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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



SCHOOL AND COLLEGE 
SPEAKER 



EDITED BY 

WILMOT BROOKINGS MITCHELL 

Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory 
Bowdoin College 



NEW YORK 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
1901 



1 



If 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copie3 Received 

MAY 31 1901 

Copyright entry 

CLAS? C^XXc No. 

COPY B. 






Copyright, 1901, 



HENRY HOLT & CO, 



• •»« '"<• - • . • •• ••* * 

'*••*!••••••• • • * • « * 



ROBERT DRUMMOND, PRINTER, NEW YORK; 



PREFACE 

This book is designed for the use of classes in Public 
Speaking in colleges and secondary schools. It seeks to 
give instruction in the essentials of Elocution, and to furnish 
declamations adapted to school and college boys and girls. 
In compiling these declamations I have sought those which 
furnish exercise in the various elements of expression and at 
the same time appeal to students, — those which present a 
vivid picture, tell an interesting tale, deal with a concrete 
situation, or advocate principles and policies fervently and 
eloquently. 

Many of these selections are new; they deal with live sub- 
jects; a large number of them have never before been printed 
as declamations. Nearly all of them, however, have been 
tested in prize-speaking contests and classroom work in 
Bowdoin College. 

To encourage the wide reading that is essential to intelli- 
gent and appreciative speaking, I have given in nearly all 
cases definite references to the whole speech, oration, poem, 
or story from which the selection is taken. 

I wish to acknowledge my indebtedness to many of the 
authors of these declamations for valuable suggestions, and 
to the publishers mentioned in the prefatory notes for 
generous permission to use copyrighted selections. 

W. B. M. 
Bowdoin College, 
Brunswick, Me. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGK 

Preface iii 

Breathing ix 

Exercises in Breathing xiii 

Pronunciation xvii 

Elements of Expression xxxiv 

Quality xxxiv 

Force xlvi 

Pitch li 

Time „ lxiv 

Emphasis lxxii 

Gesture lxxxi 

Preparation for Reading and Speaking xcv 

Proper Names Found in the Selections and Words Often 

Mispronounced 345 

Index of Authors 353 

Index of Titles 355 

SELECTIONS FOR SPEAKING 

Ray's Ride Charles King 1 

New England Civilization William Pierce Frye 5 

The Death of Charles the Ninth. Maude Moore 7 

The Traditions of Massachu- 
setts Henry Cabot Lodge 11 

Great Britain and America Edwin Oliver Wolcott 15 

Mr. Travers's First Hunt Richard Harding Davis 17 

Our Duty to the Philippines William McKinley 20 

The Storming of Mission Ridge. .Benjamin Franklin Taylor. . . 23 

The Bible Newell Dwight Hillis 26 

A Plea for Cuba John Mellen Thurston 28 

The Heart of Old Hickory Will Allen Dromgoole 31 

The Fight Off Santiago Henry Cabot Lodge 36 

The Lark Charles Reade 38 

Maine at Gettysburg Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain 39 

Banty Tim John Hay 43 



vi TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Against Expansion Henry U. Johnson. 45 

The Boat-Race Robert Grant 48 

What the Flag Means Henry Cabot Lodge 51 

Against the Spoils System Henry van Dyke 53 

New Americanism Henry Watterson 55 

The Man Without a Country. . . .Edward Everett Hale 57 

Oxford County John Davis Long 59 

From " Evangeline " Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 62 

The Monroe Doctrine John Mellen Thurston 66 

The Death Penalty Victor Marie Hugo 69 

American Battle-Flags Carl Schurz 71 

The Bell-Ringer of '76 Anonymous 73 

The Triumph of Peace Edwin Hubbell Chapin 75 

Greek Revolution Henry Clay 78 

The Path of Duty George Frisbie Hoar 80 

The Maiden Martyr Anonymous 83 

The State of Maine William Pierce Frye 86 

Daniel Webster George Frisbie Hoar 88 

The War with America Lord Chatham 91 

Brier-Rose Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen 92 

Let Us Have Peace Henry Watterson 96 

_The Mission of the Public School. William De Witt Hyde 98 

The Secret of Lincoln's Power. .Henry Watterson 101 

The Fool's Prayer Edward Rowland Sill 103 

The Man Who Wears the But- 
ton John Mellen Thurston 105 

Liberty and Union Daniel Webster 106 

The Soldier of the Empire Thomas Nelson Page 108 

Our National Flag Henry Ward Beecher 112 

Our Pledge to Puerto Rico Charles E. Littlefield 114 

Horace Greeley Henry Ward Beecher 116 

Incident of the French Camp. . . . Robert Browning 118 

Supposed Speech of James Otis . . .Lydia Maria Child 120 

The Solution of the Southern 

Problem Booker Taliaferro Washington 122 

The Significance of the Spanish 

War.. John Davis Long 124 

Knee-Deep in June James Whitcomb Riley 127 

Lincoln : A Man Called of God. .John Mellen Thurston 130 

The True War Spirit George Frisbie Hoar 133 

Charles Sumner George William Curtis. , 136 

The Vagabonds John Townsend Trowbridge. . 138 

The Death of Garfield James Gillespie Blaine 142 



BREATHING xi 

Furthermore, to use only the upper and smaller part of the 
conical - shaped chest necessitates frequent respiration. 
Hence by this method we secure the smallest supply of 
breath at the greatest expense of strength. 

Collar-bone breathing also necessitates an attempt to con- 
trol the breath in the throat, which was never intended for 
this purpose. Such imperfect control of the breathing 
organs, since it sometimes allows the breath to come in 
spurts or more air to escape than can be vocalized, often 
makes the voice trembling, jerky, or wheezy. It also causes 
a constrained position of the vocal organs that ' ' prevents 
due play of the muscles of the vocal bands, alters their 
physical relation to the impact of the escaping currents of 
expired air, and thus enfeebles the natural tone of the voice, 
and renders it less sonorous and less susceptible of modula- 
tions. In consequence of this the sounds are proportion- 
ately weak, shrill, and monotonous/' * 

Collar-bone breathing is not healthful. " It forces the 
upper chest-walls up against the root of the throat and has 
a tendency to congest the blood-vessels and tissues there. " f 
It thus brings on " clergymen's sore throat" and kindred 
ailments. 

The second method of taking breath is by costal or rib 
breathing. By this method the thorax is expanded by 
extending the lower or floating ribs sideways. This has 
many advantages over the first method. By causing a larger 
expansion of the chest, it gives a greater supply of air, a 
better control of breath, and therefore purer and more 
resonant tones than the collar-bone breathing. But since it 
is not the best, it is to be recommended only when it is 
combined with the third method, diaphragmatic or ab- 
dominal breathing. 

* Cohen: "The Throat and the Voice," p. 140. P. Blakiston, Son 
& Co., Philadelphia. 

f Smith: " Reading and Speaking," p. 4. D. C. Heath & Co., 
Boston. 



xii INTRODUCTION 

In diaphragm breathing the large muscle, the diaphragm, 
contracts, i.e., flattens, and pushes down the viscera, thus 
affording a larger space in the chest-box for the lungs to 
expand. This method should almost always be combined 
with rib breathing; when the diaphragm flattens, the float- 
ing and lower ribs should expand sideways. By causing 
expansion both lateral and vertical this method of breathing 
provides large air-chambers and a generous supply of air. 
The importance of a large chest-expansion and a good supply 
of air is manifest when we remember that the chest serves a 
double purpose — as bellows to supply the air, and also as a 
resonance- chamber. " It is the greatest mistake to treat the 
chest as merely a bellows. The purity, as well as depth, 
resonance, and volume of the tone depends upon the skill 
which the vocal chords and articulating organs play upon 
this quiet air-chamber."* But for the chest to do this 
double duty as it should, there is necessary a complete con- 
trol of the breath. This is obtained only by using the 
diaphragm. 

In speech more effort is required to hold the breath back 
than to give it out. Except when the lungs are nearly 
emptied or when we are shouting, we are not conscious of 
any effort to drive the air out of the lungs; it seems to rush 
forth of itself. What we feel the need of is power to hold 
the breath, to be economical in its use, and not to allow 
more to escape than we can vocalize. But we should not, 
as we have seen, hold the breath back with the glottis or 
any part of the throat. Such a control means constricted 
•muscles and throaty tones. The muscles of the throat 
should, when we are speaking, be entirely relaxed. This 
third method of breathing provides for just this perfect open- 
ness of the throat. The breath is controlled entirely by the 
lower intercostal muscles and the diaphragm. 

* Chamberlain and Clark : "Principles of Vocal Expression," p. 172. 
Scott, Foresman & Co., Chicago. 



BREATHING 



Xlll 



EXERCISES IN BREATHING 



CAUTIONS 



i. Always in summer, and often in the colder seasons, 
throw open the windows for a few minutes before beginning 
the exercises. You can thus be assured that, at each deep 
breath, you are drawing in, not poisonous gases, but health- 
giving oxygen. 

2. Do not at first overdo the exercises. If you are a 
person with weak lungs and heart, just the one who needs 
most to take breathing exercises, you should obey this direc- 
tion implicitly. Begin by practising not more than ten 
minutes at a time, possibly not more than five minutes, two 
or three times a day. Then increase gradually the length of 
the time occupied and the number of times the exercise is 
taken. If, at first, after trying some of the exercises, you 
are dizzy, do not be frightened. Simply stop for a time, 
walk around, slap the cheeks if you wish, and the dizziness 
will soon pass away. 

3. It is not well to exercise directly after eating. 

4. Be sure that the muscles about the throat are entirely 
relaxed. The breath should be controlled, I cannot repeat 
too often, by the diaphragm and abdominal muscles. There 
should certainly not be any constrictions at the waist. The 
clothing of women as well as of men should be sufficiently 
loose to allow the muscles of the chest and waist free play. 
" I am tempted to insert," says Mr. Southwick in a similar 
connection, "the customary protest against the barbarous 
and silly custom of tight lacing, but so much has been 
written and spoken against this utterly indefensible method 
of self-destruction, that ignorance on such a vital point is 
inexcusable. Sensible parents and teachers know their duty : 
the law of the survival of the fittest will take care of the 
rest. " * 



* Southwick 
New York. 



Elocution and Action," p. 23. Edgar S. Werner, 



xiv INTRODUCTION 

5. Do not try to push out the abdomen as far as 
possible. 

6. Finally it should be said that the exercises are not 
worth the time you spend in reading about them, unless you 
take them regularly. You cannot take enough exercise in a 
day to last a month. To be of real benefit the exercise must 
be regular, insistent, taken rain or shine, day in and day 
out. 



TO AID IN FILLING THE ENTIRE LUNGS 

1. Take an erect position. Inhale slowly through the 
nostrils, filling the lower part of the lungs first, then the 
upper part. The abdomen will at first be pushed out, but 
when the upper part of the lungs is expanded, it will slightly 
recede. Set the upper chest firm. Hold the breath a few 
seconds — not more than five in beginning — by keeping the 
diaphragm flat; then exhale slowly through the nostrils. 

2. Inhale, and retain the breath, as in Exercise 1 ; exhale 
through the mouth on the sound of " ha ", allowing all the 
air to escape at once. 

3. Inhale, and retain the breath, as in Exercise 1 ; then, in 
order to fill all the air-cells, pat lightly the upper part of the 
lungs. Exhale slowly on the sound of " a ". This and the 
following exercise should be practiced with care. Never 
sir ike the lungs severely. 

4. Inhale, and retain the breath, as in Exercise 1. Bend 
forward, letting some one pat you lightly, very lightly, upon 
the back; exhale, expelling all the air at once. 

(In speaking of exercises similar to this and the preceding, 
Leo Kofler says: "Frequently, many, perhaps thousands, 
of the little, fine air-cells of the lungs may become com- 
pletely closed or shrivelled in consequence of prolonged 
imperfect breathing. ... In such cases, this exercise will 
give complete relief." *) 

* "The Art of Breathing," p. 90. Edgar S. Werner, New York. 



BREATHING xv 

5. Stand erect with arms hanging at the sides of the body. 
Inhale through the nostrils, at the same time rising on the 
toes and lifting the arms sideways until the hands, the palms 
being downward, are level with the shoulders. Hold the 
breath a few seconds; then exhale slowly through the 
nostrils, gradually lowering the hands to the sides, and the 
heels to the floor. 

6. Inhale, and retain the breath, as in Exercise 1. Place 
the hands on the hips with thumbs behind; bend the body 
to the right three times, to the left three times, then exhale 
slowly through the nostrils. 

TO AID IN EXPANDING THE UPPER CHEST 

7. " Place the back of one hand just below the shoulders, 
with fingers of the other a little below the collar-bone. Let 
the chest collapse, or fall in. Stretch against both hands, 
expanding the body in a diagonal line, outward and upward, 
downward and backward." * 

8. " Stand erect; stretch both arms forward at right angles 
with the chest, fingers extended. Take a full breath ener- 
getically through the nostrils; retain the air a little while, 
then draw the arms gently back, and expel the air all at 
once through the compressed lips. Then draw the arms 
violently forward, taking simultaneously a vigorous breath 
through the nostrils ; hold it a short time, then throw the 
arms violently back, closing the fists, and expel the air 
forcibly through the compressed lips. Do this a few times 
in succession." f 

9. Repeat Exercise 5. In the same way raise the hands 
in front with the palms downward and with the ends of the 
thumbs touching. Also raise the hands above the head, 
touching the ends of the thumbs. 

* Chamberlain and Clark : " Principles of Vocal Expression," p. 173. 
Scott, Foresman & Co , Chicago. 

f Leo Kofler: "The Art of Breathing," p. 93. Edgar S. Werner, 
New York. 



xvi INTRODUCTION 

TO AID IN STRENGTHENING AND IN GETTING CONTROL OF THE 
INTERCOSTAL MUSCLES 

10. Inhale through the nostrils, filling the lower part of 
the lungs first, enlarging the waist as if trying to burst a belt. 
Retain the breath for a few seconds; exhale slowly through 
a small opening in the lips, contracting the sides as much 
as possible. 

1 1 . Place the hands at the sides on the lower or floating 
ribs with thumbs behind. Standing erect, inhale through the 
nostrils, expanding the trunk sideways against the hands. 
Pressing in slightly with the hands, exhale through a small 
opening of the lips. 

12. Place the hands on the sides as near the armpits as 
possible. Inhale slowly through the nostrils, expanding the 
trunk sideways against the hands. 

TO AID IN LEARNING TO INHALE QUICKLY AND INAUDIBLY 

13. Stand erect; inhale through the nostrils quickly; 
exhale slowly through the nostrils. 

14. Inhale quickly and inaudibly through the nostrils with 
mouth open; exhale slowly through a small opening of the 
lips. 

15. Inhale quickly and inaudibly through the mouth; 
exhale gently through the nostrils. 

TO SECURE ECONOMICAL EXPIRATION OF BREATH 

16. Stand upright; inhale slowly through the nostrils, fill- 
ing the lower part of the lungs first; exhale slowly and 
steadily through the nostrils. 

17. Inhale slowly through the nostrils; exhale slowly and 
steadily through the mouth, holding the breath back with 
the diaphragm. 

(In taking this exercise for the first time, you will find that 
the breath comes in spurts. This unevenness may be easily 
detected by exhaling through a pitch-pipe, or better by hold- 



P RON UN CIA TION xv 1 1 

ing a lighted candle in front of the mouth. Practice until 
you can exhale without causing the flame of the candle to 
flicker.) 

1 8. Inhale slowly through the nostrils. Exhale, counting 
the numerals up to twenty-five, controlling the breath with 
the diaphragm. 

(Do not try to empty the lungs completely. In reading 
or speaking never allow the lungs to get entirely empty. ) 

19. Expanding the oral cavity by keeping the tongue 
down and lifting the uvula, as you do when yawning, inhale 
through a small opening of the lips. "Quietly closing 
the lips over the parted teeth, exhale gently and evenly 
through the nostrils on the sound of ' m ', i.e., delicately 
hum. Be sure that the sound does not quaver." * 

20. Inhale through the nostrils. Exhale gently and 
evenly, through a round opening formed by the lips, on the 
sound of long " o J \ Be sure that the sound is steady. 

21. Inhale through the nostrils. Exhale-gently and evenly 
through the mouth on the sound of " a". 

22. Inhale through the nostrils. Having the muscles of 
the throat relaxed and controlling the breath by the dia- 
phragm, shout: " Hullo, John! Where are you going ? " 

PRONUNCIATION 

" My tex' may be foun' in the fif and six' verses of the 
secon' chapter of Titus; and the subjec' of my dis'course is 
■ The Goverment of ar Homes.' " Such slovenly expression, 
exceedingly irritating to a listener, shows at once how essen- 
tial to the public speaker is good pronunciation. All people, 
educated or uneducated, like to listen to clean articulation, 
to words "delivered out from the lips, as beautiful coins 
newly issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, 
perfectly finished ". And everyone is wearied and chafed 

* Chamberlain and Clark : "Principles of Vocal Expression, p. 192. 
Scott, Foresman & Co., Chicago. 



xvin INTRODUCTION 

by indistinct and careless utterance. It requires an excep- 
tionally good voice, clear and forcible thinking, and a pleas- 
ing personality to offset a defective pronunciation. On the 
other hand correct pronunciation may make amends for 
some of the worst defects of voice and physique. 'The 
part played in reading by articulation", an all-important 
element of pronunciation, "is very great", says Legouve. 
" It is articulation, and articulation alone, that gives clear- 
ness, energy, passion, vehemence. So great is its power 
that it can fully compensate for a feeble voice even before a 
large assembly. Actors of the first order have been almost 
without a voice. Potier had no voice. Monvel, the famous 
Monvel, had no voice, he had not even teeth. But his 
audience never lost a word, and never did artist produce a 
more pathetic effect. How ? By the perfection of his 
articulation." * 

Good pronunciation involves (i) proper accentuation, 
(2) correct articulation. Although the former is important, 
it can hardly be taught by rule. The accent must in nearly 
all cases be learned by consulting a dictionary or by hearing 
others pronounce. It is perhaps sufficient to say that — 

(1) " The general tendency of the English language is to 
carry the chief accent back towards or to the first syllable ",f 
as in " despicable ", " indis'solubleness ", " inexplicable ", 
" per'emptoriness ". 

(2) "Words of Anglo-Saxon origin commonly take the 
accent on the root syllable", as in "enough'", " en- 
light 'en ", " hcart'ily ", " walk'er ". 

(3) The principal accent is sometimes changed to show a 
contrast; as, "What I have done ye never can undo", 
" Their work is destructive but mine is constructive ", " He 
must increase but I must decrease"; also to distinguish a 
noun from an adjective, as " ar'senic ", " arsen'ic ", 
" Au'gust ", "august'", " min'ute ", "minute'", or an 

* " Art of Reading," p. 51. Edgar S. Werner, New York. 
•[Webster's International Dictionary, p. lvi. 



PRONUNCIATION xix 

adjective and noun from a verb, as " pre'fix ", "prefix''', 
" reb'el ", "rebel'", " sub'ject ", "subject'". For a list 
of words occurring in the selections in this volume often 
mispronounced see Appendix. 

" Articulation is the formation } and jointing together into 
syllables, of the elementary sounds of speech." * There are 
in articulation at least two elements, — the mental and the 
mechanical. That " slovenly articulation may be the index 
of moral slovenliness, and may react upon the latter ",f is 
perhaps questionable, but surely clear, well-defined thought 
tends to express itself in clear-cut words, while blurred and 
confused thinking often means confused and indistinct 
articulation. Drunken, stupid, and barbarous people articu- 
late bunglingly. "The Boobies of the island of Fernando 
Po communicate with each other in what can hardly be 
called an articulate language. Even the physical organs of 
such people remain unformed and uncontrolled. The coarse 
thick tongue, and ill-defined blubber lip, of every un- 
developed or degraded type of mankind, seem to be suffi- 
ciently accounted for by the fact that for thousands of years 
they have been without any sharp distinctions in their 
thoughts, destitute of culture and refinement. ' ' J The 
most radical remedy for a poor articulation, then, is clear 
thinking. Any exercise that will make one think logic- 
ally, acutely, and quickly is also an exercise in articula- 
tion. 

Disordered thinking is not, however, the only cause of 
blurred speaking. The mechanical element may play an 
important part. Often the organs of speech are incorrectly 
arranged; the front teeth are separated, the lower jaw is 
pushed out too far, the tongue tied, the palate cleft, the 
septum twisted. In such cases one should seek the aid of 

* Mcllvaine : "Elocution," p. 199. Charles Scribner's Sons, New- 
York. 

f Corson : " The Voice and Spiritual Education," p. 107. 
\ Mcllvaine : "Elocution," p. 219. 



xx INTRODUCTION 

the dentist or the surgeon. The dentist may bring the teeth 
together and cover the cleft palate with a plate; the surgeon, 
by slight cutting, may open the nasal passages or set free the 
tied tongue. 

Furthermore one may correct wrong articulation, make 
manageable " the unruly member", and make the stiff lips 
flexible, by judicious exercise. 

First of all one should learn to pronounce distinctly the 
elementary sounds. 

There are, it is generally estimated, forty-four elementary 
sounds in the English language. To study these and their 
various classifications is surely the dry bones of reading and 
speaking, but a mention of at least one of the classifications 
is essential to an intelligent and thorough practice in artic- 
ulation. 

The sounds are divided into vowels and consonants. 
When a vowel sound is produced, the air, vocalized in the 
larynx, is simply modified by the shaping of the oral cavity, 
the pharynx, and the nasal passages, as will be seen by pro- 
nouncing a, e, o, u. When a consonant is produced the 
sound is more than modified ; it is obstructed by the lips, teeth, 
tongue, and soft palate, as may be seen by pronouncing p, /, 
g, k, or c. " According to the place of obstruction especially 
concerned in their formation" the consonants are further 
divided into five classes: Labials, Dentals, Linguals, Nasals, 
and Palatals. These elementary sounds and their divisions 
are shown in the following table. 

A person who has trouble in pronouncing any one of the 
elementary sounds should first learn exactly what the sound 
is, then find out the position in which the organs of speech 
should be placed in pronouncing it, and finally practice it 
untiringly. In extreme cases the second suggestion will 
prove especially valuable. Teachers often find, for example, 
that to instruct one to say " far " instead of " fah ", " idea " 
instead of " idear ", or " arrive " instead of " ahwive ", it is 
necessary to point out the fact that " r" is formed by turn- 



PRONUNCIATION 

ELEMENTARY SOUNDS 



Vowels and 
Diphthongs. 


Vowels and 
Diphthongs. 


Consonants. 


Consonants. 






LABIALS. 


LINGUALS. 


a as in fate 


6 as in no 


b as in babe 


1 as in loll 


a as in ah 


o as in cot 


f as in fifty 


r as in rear 


a as in all 


oo as in moon 


m as in maim 


DENTALS. 


a as in care 


6b as in book 


p as in pipe 


ch. as in chew 


a as in at 


u as in use 


V as in value 


d as in did 


a as in ask 


u as in up 


W as in work 


j as in jam 


e as in eel 


u as injur 


PALATALS. 


s as in saw 


e as in let 


oi as in coil 


g as in gag 


sh as in shame 


e as in fern 


ou as in out 


h as in hat 


t as in tent 


I as in ice 




k as in kick 


th. as in thy 


i as in ill 




y as in you 


th as in thigh 






NASAL. 


z as in zenith 






n as in nun 


zh as in azure 






ng as in ring 





ing up the tip of the tongue "so as nearly to touch the roof 
of the mouth at the highest point of the arch." * 



VOWEL SOUNDS 

Though the vowels are not especially difficult to pro- 
nounce, wrong instruction and example, ignorance, and 
slovenly habits lead to manifold mistakes in the pronuncia- 
tion of these sounds. Who upon the street does not hear 
many times a day " sence " for "since", "git red" for 
" get rid ", " jest " for " just ", " Jurden " for " Jordan ", 
" rense " for "rinse," " winduh " for "window"? Dr. 

* A clear and detailed description of the position of the organs in 
forming the forty -four elementary sounds may be found in Mcllvaine's 
" Elocution" or in Guttemann's "Gymnastics of the Voice." 



xxn INTRODUCTION 

Mackenzie well says: " On the proper production of the 
vowels depends distinctness of articulation; and the final, 
as it is the severest test, of a speaker's training is the per- 
fection of his rendering those five letters a, e, i, o, u." 

It is an interesting fact that, as far as pronunciation goes, 
it is chiefly in the vowel sounds that the various dialects of 
the English language differ from one another. 

" Take that! an' tff'ever ye gzt a peep, 
Guess ye'W k^tch a weasel asleep! " 

The Momment. 

" No: England she would hew 'em, Fee, Faw, Fum ! 
(Ez though she hadn't fools enough to home,) 
So they've returned 'em — 

The Bridge. 

Hev they ? Wal, by heaven, 

That's the w#st news I've heerd. s^nce Seventy-seven! " 

An exhaustive classification of the many mistakes made in 
pronouncing the vowel sounds is hardly feasible, but the 
following cautions may be given in regard to some of the 
crude and common blunders. Do not pronounce: 

i. a, I : extra, extri; Martha, Marthi; algebra, algebri. 

2. a, a: laugh, laf; calf, caf; calm, calm; half, half. 

3. a, e: naked, neked; plague, plegue; plaintiff, plentiff; 
ate, et. 

catch, ketch; gather, gether; January, Jenuary. 

rather, ruther. 

always, alwuz. 

really, really; clear, clear; nearly, nearly. 

egg, ag; edge, adge; keg, kag; regular, ragular; 
pleasure, playsure; measure, maysure; treasure, traysure; 
again, again; against, aganst. 

9. e, u: cellar, suller; whether, whuther. 

10. e, i: steady, stiddy; instead, instid; umbrella, um- 
brilla; beneficent, benificent. 



4. 


a, 


e 


5- 


a, 


u 


6. 


a, 


u 


7- 


e, 


e 


8. 


e, 


a 



PRONUNCIATION xxiii 

n. e, I : clique, clik; creek, crick; sleek, slick. 

12. I, e: hinder hender; captain, capten; English (Ing_ 
lish), English; fountain, founten; mountain, mounten; 
curtain, curten; Philadelphia, Philadelphia; pretty (pritty), 
pretty; rinse, rense. 

13. o, 6: alone, alone; boat, boat; bone, bone; both, 
both; choke, choke; coat, coat; glory, glory; home, home; 
hope, hope; load, load; most, most; stone, stone; story, 
story; wrote, wrote. 

" Learning condemns beyond the reach of hope 
The careless lips that speak of soap for soap; 
Her edict exiles from her fair abode 
The clownish voice that utters road for road; 
Less stern to him who calls his coat a coat, 
And steers his boat believing it a boat. 
She pardoned one, our classic city's boast, 
Who said at Cambridge, most instead of most, 
But knit her brows and stamped her angry foot 
To hear a Teacher call a root a root. ' ' 

O. W. Holmes. 

14. 6, u: window, winduh; shadow, shaduh; widow, 
widuh; won't, wun't. 

15. 6, u: bonnet, bunnet; chock-full, chuck-full; for, 
fur; hovel, huvel ; what (whot), whut. 

16. 6b, 00: broom, broom; hoof, hoof; moor, moor; 
proof, proof; roof, roof; room, room. 

This is an error to which, it is said, New-Englanders are 
especially liable. To the following rule there are but few 
exceptions : 00 is long before all letters except k ; before k 
it is generally short. In blood and flood 00 has the sound 
of u, in brooch, door, and floor of o. 

17. ou and au, 6: aught, 6t; caught, cot; fought, fot; 
naughty, notty; ought, ot; thought, thot; sought, sot. 

18. u, e: just, jest; such, sech. ** 



Xxiv INTRODUCTION 

19, u, 00: assume, assoome; constitution, constitootion ; 
duke, dooke, institute, institoote; nude, noode; produce, 
prodooce; sinew, sinoo ; tune, toone. 

Never do we hear " beauty " pronounced "booty", or 
"few", " foo " ; but so commonly is "duty" called 
" dooty ", and " new ", " noo ", that we can say there is a 
decided tendency in many parts of the country, especially in 
New England, to injure the beauty of the English language 
by disregarding the right sound of long u. In describing 
this sound Webster says that " it is a diphthong with 00 for 
the terminal or main part, and for the initial a very brief and 
evanescent element nearly related to i (ill) or to e (eve); and 
in thejgreater number of cases there comes in as a connect- 
ing glide a more or less full sound of the consonant jy. . . . 
In no case whatever should the y sound come in when it will 
not come in smoothly as a glide. "* Thejy element is omitted 
and the sound becomes almost that of 00 after ch as in 
" chew ", sh as in " shumac " or its equivalent s in " sure " 
(not, however, after s when it is not pronounced like sh, as 
in "assume", for example), after r, and after / when pre- 
ceded by another consonant, as in flue, flew, glue, rude> 
brute, bruin, blue, frugal. 

20. u, i, and re like er: animate, anermate; congratulate, 
congraterlate ; executor, exekertor; manufacture, manerfac- 
ture; querulous, quererlous; regulate, regerlate; represent, 
repersent. 

CONSONANT SOUNDS 

In the pronunciation of consonants the most common 
mistakes are (1) omission of sounds, as " artic " for " arc- 
tic ", " Baptis " for " Baptist ", " beginnin " for "begin- 
ning", " catridge " for "cartridge", " histry " for "his- 
tory", " labratory " for "laboratory", " scriek " for 
"shriek", " twelth " for " twelfth ", " wy " for "why"; 
(2) addition of sounds, as " acrosst " for "across", 

* Webster's International Dictionary, p. lxiv. 



PRONUNCIATION xxv 

" acquiesk " for "acquiesce", " dra wring " for "draw- 
ing", " halleluliah ", for "halleluiah", " heighth " for 
"height", " rendring " for "rending"; (3) substitution 
of one sound for another, as " cramberry " for " cranberry ", 
" decripid " for " decrepit ", " enconium " for " enco- 
mium " , " Jacop " f or " Jacob " , " Jubiter " f or " Jupiter ' ' , 
" nasturtiun " for "nasturtium", " princibal " for " prin- 
cipal ", "troth" for "trough"; (4) clumsy transition 
from one sound to another, as " athelete " for " athlete", 
" belind " for " blind ", " spelash " for " splash ", " Don- 
cher-know " for " Don't you know ", " the panting spirit's 
eye " for " the panting spirit sigh ". Serious as are the first 
three defects, the last is perhaps the worst. Often it is the 
result of carelessness; sometimes of an attempt to be very 
exact. One should practice correct pronunciation so that it 
will seem natural, not stilted, conscious, and artificial. The 
action of the organs should be ' ' prompt, neat, and easy ' ' ; 
the contact of the organs should be firm but delicate, and 
the reaction quick. 

ARTICULATION EXERCISES 

In practicing articulation do not forget the breathing 
exercises already given. Ability to control the breath when 
one is nervous, as almost every person is likely to be before 
an audience, remedies not only stuttering but other forms of 
incorrect articulation. It is much easier to enunciate well 
when the lungs contain plenty of air than when they are 
nearly empty. 

After taking the breathing exercises, practice the following : 

1. Pronounce distinctly and quickly the elementary 
sounds as given on page xv. 

2. Repeat vigorously each of the following groups three 
times : * 

(a) ee, 00, ah. (c) ip, it, ik. 

(b) oi, ai, ou. (d) kiff, kiss, kish. 

♦From J. W. Churchill's " Vocal Culture," p. 2. 



xxvi INTRODUCTION 

(e) which, church, myth. (/) rare, rear, car. 

(_/") ib, id, ig. (k) form, from, far. 

(g) sim, sin, sing. (/) that, azure, vault. 

{h) HI, lol, la. (m) jeer, zeb's, wit. 

(z') par, mar, star. (n) yet, you, yawn. 

3. Legouve, quoting the words of Regnier, gives what he 
considers an infallible means of correcting all defects of 
articulation. " You face your friend exactly, and, pronounc- 
ing your words distinctly but in an underbreath, you com- 
mission your articulation to convey them to your friend's 
eyes rather than to his ears, for he is as carefully watching 
how you speak as he is intently listening to what you say. 
Articulation, having here a double duty to perform, that of 
sound as well as its own peculiar function, is compelled as 
it were to dwell strongly on each syllable so as to land it 
safely within the intelligence of your hearer." Following 
Regnier' s directions ? pronounce the following sentences: 

(a) Where are you going ? 

(b) John has gone to the shore. 

(c) The dentist can perhaps cover the cleft palate with a 
plate. 

(d) Bring me a pair of scissors. 

(e) Mother said you were very diligent. 

CO When Dick comes home, send him to my house. 
(g) The Isthmian canal is not to be built this year. 

4. Repeat vigorously the following words and syllables 
illustrating initial and terminal combinations of consonants: 
Bla, a, e, e, I, o, u, oi. Black, bleat, blind, bloat, blush. 
Cla, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Clam, clear, cling, clove, cluck. 
Fla, a, e, e, I, 0, u, oi. Flake, fleet, flight, float, flume. 
Gla, a, e, e, i, o, u, oi. Glad, glebe, glib, gloat, glume. 
Pla, a, e, e, I, o, u, oi. Plain, pledge, plight, plot, plume. 
Sla, a, e, e, i, o, u, oi. Slang, sled, slight, sloth, slug. 
Splii, a, e, e, i, 0, u, oi. Splash, spleen, splice, splotch, 

splurge. 



PRONUNCIATION xxvn 

Bra, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Brawn, breast, bridge, broth, 

bruise. 
Cra, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Crawl, crease, crib, cross, cms. 
Dra, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Drag, dress, drill, dross, drunk. 
Fra, a, e, e, i, o, u, oi. Frail, fresh, fringe, frost, fruit. 
Gra, k y e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Grab, green, grip, grope, gruff. 
Pra, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Prance, preach, prince, prop, 

prude. 
Spra, a, e, e, i, 0, u, oi. Sprain, spread, sprit, sprout, 

spruce. 
Shra, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Shrep, shrill, shrine, shroud, 

shrug. 
Stra, a, e, e, I, o, u, oi. Strange, stretch, strike, strove, 

struck. 
Thra, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Thrash, thread, thrill, throw, 

thrush. 
Tra, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Trash, tread, trite, troll, trudge. 
Sma, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Smash, smear, smite, smock, 

smut. 
Sna, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Snarl, sneak, snipe, snob, snuff. 
Spa, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Spark, spear, spile, spoke, spur. 
Sta, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Stare, steal, stick, stop, stump. 
Kwa, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Quake, queen, quite, quote, quod. 
Skwa, a, e, e, i, 6, u, oi. Square, squeak, squelch, squid, 

squad. 
(Rb.) Garb, orb, curb, verb. 

(Bd, gd, ngd, bid, did, pld, rid, Id, rd, rbd, rmd, rnd, rvd.) 
Ribbed, robbed, robed, rubbed ; wagged, wigged, 
logged, lugged ; banged, fanged, hanged ; babbled, 
nibbled, tumbled; paddled, bridled, huddled; templed, 
dimpled, rumpled; tw T irled, world, curled; hailed, held, 
billed, fold, pulled; bard, reared, fired, ford; barbed, 
garbed, orbed ; harmed, termed, formed ; burned, 
spurned, churned; starved, nerved, swerved. 
(Z/.) Pelf, golf, Guelph, gulf. 
(Ng.) Banging, singing, song, flung. 



xxvm INTRODUCTION 

(Dj, rj.) Bridge, lodge, judge; charge, forge, gorge, purge. 
(Lk, nk, rk.) Talc, elk, silk, bulk; tank, brink, monk; 

dark, dirk, fork, work, 
(B/, dl, rl.) Table, rabble, crumble, paddle, needle, fondle; 

snarl, earl, churl. 
(Th.) Lathe, blithe, smooth, wreathe, worth, truth, length, 

dearth, swarth. 
(Lm, rm, sm.) Harm, term, firm, storm; elm, whelm, film; 

spasm, prism, cynicism. 
(Dn, kn, pn, rn, sn, tn, vn.) Madden, bidden, broaden, 

trodden; shaken, sicken, broken, shrunken; cheapen, 

deepen, sharpen; warn, yearn, fern, discern; lessen, 

chosen, poison, season; hearten, sweeten, lighten; 

raven, leaven, woven; toughen, roughen; strengthen, 

smoothen, earthen. 
{Lp, mp, sp.) Scalp, whelp, kelp, pulp; cramp, limp, romp, 

bump; grasp, wisp, cusp, wasp. 
(Cs, ds, ks, Is, ngs, ns, mps, ms, ns, rs, ss.) Ethics, comics, 

optics ; beads, odds, suds ; stocks, thinks, hunks; 

galls, bells, pulls; hangings, innings, doings, dunnings; 

pains, reins, downs; mumps, limps, romps; claims, 

teems, sums; pains, downs, runs; cars, hers, pours; 

mass, chess, fuss. 
(Cf,/f, 11, nt, pi, rt, st, ds/.) Act, sect, strict, duct; draft, 

cleft, loft, tuft; malt, felt, volt; chant, scent, dint, 

front; swept, script, prompt; start, pert, sort; last, 

jest, just; guardst, midst, formedst, shouldst, troubledst. 

5. Repeat quickly and distinctly the following syllables 
and sentences: 

LABIALS 

B as in babe, bob, robbed. Ba, be, bl, bo, bu; ab, eb, 
ib, ob, ub. 

(a) Bob, the batter, imbibed bad brandy. 

(p) Both brown beauties bit the black bait. 

(c) Brawny black brutes bounded back, breaking the big 
bridge. 



PRONUNCIATION xxix 

(d) Blundering Brown, the big blusterer, bragged brazenly 
about his bad brother. 

F as in fife, from, faithful. Fa, fe, fl, fo, fu; af, ef, 
if, off, uf. 

(a) Fearful of the false, fight faithfully, Francis. 

(3) " Flags fluttered fretfully from foreign fortifications 
and fleets." 

(c) Foolish footmen, frowning frightfully, frequently fol- 
lowed Frank's friend. 

(d) Frugal Flavius, flushing feverishly, fiercely found 
fault with Flora's frivolity. 

M as in maim, man, lamp. Ma, me, ml, mo, mu; am, 
em, Im, 6m, um. 

(a) Many unmanageable monsters, married to magnani- 
mous men, make much mischief. 

(b) Mary's mamma, admiring Mammon and missing the 
man's money, murmured much and mourned many months. 

(c) Memorable miracles, madam, made momentous mes- 
merism or animal magnetism. 

(d) The enemy's mules mutilated many maimed militia- 
men. 

P as in pick, rip, pop. Pa, pe, pi, po, pu; ap, ep, Ip, 
op, up. 

(a) Poor proud Peter proved his purpose praiseworthy. 
(5) The porter's parents, praying pardon, pleaded pitiably. 

(c) Ponto the puppy, puffing uninterruptedly, jumped up 
on top of the porch. 

(d) Paul, the popular papist, appointed Potipher to pro- 
tect the public parks. 

V as in vine, live revive. Va, ve, vl, vo, vu; ave, eve, 
Ive, ove, uve. 

(a) The voluble, vivacious villain vociferously vowed 
revenge. 

(b) Vivian's vernacular gives vividness to every verse. 

(c) Avoid the vivisection of viviparous vertebrates. 
{d} Victor's verses revived a love of adventure. 



xxx INTRODUCTION 

W as in wave, new, while. Wa, we, wl, wo, wu ; caw, 
few, how. 

(a) When William went west where Wheeler was working, 
we wished we were where we could warn him. 

(b) The wherry at the wharf was weighted with whale-oil, 
whey, and wheat. 

(c) Wily Will willfully whistled wildly. 

(d) Woodsworth, winking wisely, whipped the whining 
whelp. 

PALATALS 

G as in gave, gig, rag. Ga, ge, gl, go, gu; ag, eg, Ig, 6g, ug. 
(a) Good ground Gregory gave for grinding grists glee- 
fully. 

(6) Greedy, ungrateful growlers gave gruel grumblingly. 

(c) Great-grandfathers, gowned gaudily, gallantly guarded 
Grace's garlands. 

(d) Gratiano, groaning gloomily and growling grudgingly, 
grew graceless and grewsome. 

H as in ha, heave, had. Ha, he hi, ho, hu. 

(a) Who gave Hugh that howling hyena ? 

(b) Hugo's heroic act aided Hiram's helplessness. 

(c) How horribly Herbert hurt his head at honest Henry's 
house! 

(d) I did not say wig, heart, ear, hair, and all, but whig, 
art, hear, air, and hall. 

K as in kite, cake, oak. Ka, ke, kl, ko, ku; ak, ek, Ik, 
ok, iik. 

(a) Kindly keep Kate from kicking Caleb. 

(b) Kittens cunningly crept across the cotton coverlet, 
awaking Kenneth, the cross cook. 

(c) The Kuklux Klan causes Kirke to keep his cutlass 
keen. 

(d) Kenelm, cried the coxcomb, carve the cuticle from 
the cunners with cousin's crude cutlery. 

Y as in you, say, yon. Ya, ye, yl, yo, yu ; bay, they, 
boy, buy. 



PRONUNCIATION xxxi 

(a) Yesterday the yeoman's youngsters in yacht and yawl 
yelled and yelped unyieldingly. 

(5) The yarns of the ubiquitous Yankee used to be 
humorous, yet you yawned. 

(c) Your Seniors, yoking the yellow yearlings, drew yule- 
logs to yonder yard. 

(d) Europe's universities euphemistically eulogized the 
Union. 

NASALS 

N as in near, and, ran. Na, ne, nl, no, nu; an, en, in, 
on, un. 

(a) Ned, noting the negro's nod, noisily knocked at 
Nathan's nephew's nursery. 

(b) Neptune nearly annihilated the nation's neglected 
navy. 

(c) Next noon non-conformists announced renewed enmity 
to the Government's enrollment. 

(d) Noisy nomads never noticed Naaman's noble name. 
Ng as in sing, flung. Ang, eng, ing, ong, ung. 

(a) ' ' The Cataract strong then plunges along, 

Striking and raging as if a war waging, 
Rising and leaping, sinking and creeping, 
Showering and springing, flying and flinging, 
Writhing and ringing. ' ' 

(b) " Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling, 

And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, 
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, 
And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping, 
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling, 
And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping, 
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing; 
And so never ending but always descending, 
Sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending, 
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar, 
And this way the Water comes down at Lodore. ' ' 



xxxii INTRODUCTION 

LINGUALS 

L as in lull, love, oil. La, le, ll, 16, lu; al, el, ll, 61, ul. 

(a) Laban, ladened lightly, labored leisurely and lolled 
listlessly, looking longingly at Llewellyn's lunch. 

(b) Luckily life's loneliness left lively Lulu's loyalty. 

(c) Lolling, lazy, lisping Lillo, lounging lubberly, laughed 
loudly at laboring Lael. 

(d) Little likeliness, laughed the low lawyer, that legi- 
bility and liability are linked indissolubly. 

R as in for, run, rare. Ra, re, ri, ro, ru; far, er, ir, or, ur. 

(a) Rollo, rioting uproariously, rushed rashly round the 
rough roof. 

(b) The wronged, ragged rabble roared ravenously. 

(c) Rude, rocky, rural roads run round rugged ranges. 

(d) Rough red cords Robert rarely wound round the rude 
rake. 

DENTALS 

Ch as in church, rich, charge. Cha, che, chi, cho, chu; 
arch, orch, urch. 

(<?) Cherish, cheerful children, the church's teachings. 

(b) Charles, charging checks to Charity, cheated Chester. 

(c) Chastened with chafing chains, Chauncey challenged 
Chandler. 

(d) By chance Charles changed the cheap chamber chairs. 
D as in did, rode, door. Da, de, di, do, du; ad, ed, 

id, Od, ud. 

(a) Daring Daedalus defiantly disobeyed the duke's man- 
dates. 

{b) Didymus, disregarding disgrace, delighted in dastardly 
deeds. 

(c) Dora, defending sound doctrines, discomfited the dis- 
putant. 

(d) Dick, dodging duty, dreaded degrading defeat. 

J as in joy, judge. Ja, je, ji, jo, ju; aj, ej, lj, 6j, uj. 

(a) Joyful John joins Joseph, jumping the joist. 

{b) James, the jailer, judged Jacques, the Jacobin, justly. 



PRONUNCIATION xxxm 

(c) Jasper, the jolly juror, justly joked John, the jour- 
nalist. 

(d) Jacob, the Jewish jockey, jovially jingled Juliet's 
jewels. 

S and sh. Sa, se, si, so, su; as, es, is, 6s, us. Sha, 
she, shi, etc. 

(a) Surely slowness and slovenliness should be shunned, 
Susan. 

(b) Simple Sampson sleeping snores. 

(c) Selfish Silas with short, shrill shrieks shouts ashore 
saucily. 

(d) After a short session Sarah serves shrub and sherbet 
to the soldiers. 

(e) Seated on shore she sees ships with shining sails on 
the shimmering sea. 

T as in tar, hat, to. Ta, te, ti, to, tu; at, et, it, 6t, ut. 

(a) Tomlinson treated the delicate subject touchingly, 
tenderly, and tactfully. 

(b) Tottering Titus twice tried tremblingly to trace the 
tortuous track. 

(c) Thomas, the teetotaler, told Timothy to teach true 
temperance to Tristam, the tricky, tipsy tippler. 

(d) Tom talking trivial twaddle tried twice to treat Twist 
truculently. 

Th as in there, thin, and wreath. Than, then, thin, 
thon, thun; ath, eth, etc. 

{a) Theophilus Thistle, the thistle-sifter, sifted a sieve of 
unsifted thistles. If Theophilus Thistle, the thistle-sifter, 
sifted a sieve of unsifted thistles, where is the sieve of un- 
sifted thistles that Theophilus Thistle, the thistle-sifter, 
sifted ? 

(b) Thursday Theophilus giveth cousin Thisbe the thou- 
sandth thwack. 

(c) Through the thin cloth the thief thrusts thorns. 

Z as in zenith, lazy, adz. Za, ze, zi ? zo, zu; az, ez, iz, 
6z, uz, 



xxxiv INTRODUCTION 

(a) Zara resounds with sounds of Sarah's zither. 

(b) Zuriel resists Zaccheus zealously. 

(c) Ezra's seizure assured the exposure of Ziska's treasure. 

ELEMENTS OF EXPRESSION 

In voice production, as has been shown, the air coming 
from the lungs is vocalized in the larynx, and is molded 
into consonants and vowels by the organs of articulation. 
There is, however, in the expression of thought and emotion 
more than this. In the expression of anger, for example, 
the voice takes a tone different from that which it takes in 
the expression of pity. It also takes on a higher pitch, a 
greater force, and a more rapid movement. We will now 
consider these elements of expression. 

QUALITY 

Quality is that which distinguishes the voice of one person 
from that of another. Two persons sing on the same pitch, 
that is, their tones are at the same point on the musical 
scale; they sing at the same loudness; and yet the voice of 
one is noticeably different from that of the other. They 
differ in quality. Quality it is which distinguishes the tone 
of a violin from that of a piano. The violin-string may 
vibrate the same number of times as the piano-cord, and 
therefore produce a sound of the same loudness; but it is 
made of different material, and has behind it a resonance- 
chamber of different shape and size. These give it a differ- 
ent quality. 

To produce the best quality of voice a speaker must first 
of all have healthy, well-developed, perfectly controlled vocal 
organs. A small mouth, thick vocal cords, imperfect breath- 
ing, rough, dry lining of the resonance-chambers, any one 
of these will greatly injure the quality of the voice. More- 
over the condition of the mind and heart affects greatly the 
voice-quality; for the voice, it must always be borne in 



QUALITY xxxv 

mind, is not simply the product of a machine. It is the 
manifestation of the soul. A gloomy, splenetic person falls 
habitually into a grouty tone, while a joyous temperament 
shows itself in a jubilant quailty of voice. To produce the 
best quality of voice, then, a speaker must have a healthy, 
well-trained, happy mind. 

The quality of the human voice is susceptible of variations 
as manifold as the numerous states of mind and heart. Of 
these the most important and representative are the Pure, 
Orotund, Aspirate, and Guttural. 

THE PURE TONE 

The Pare tone is that which expresses the normal state of 
the well-balanced mind and healthy body. It is employed 
in the expression of thought that is unimpassioned or is only 
mildly emotional, in the speaking or reading of scientific 
description and exposition, unemotional narrative, and 
joyous, playful, humorous, or mildly pathetic discourse. 

To produce the Pure tone allow no more breath to escape 
than can be vocalized, keep the muscles of the throat relaxed, 
and direct the air-column to the front part of the mouth. 
To develop this tone practice the following exercises. In 
practicing them keep your ears open; see that the tone is 
not husky, trembling, nasal, or throaty. And since you are 
so accustomed to the sound of your own voice that you will 
find it difficult to judge it correctly, secure, if possible, the 
assistance of an honest and competent teacher. 

I. Taking an easy pitch, sing the following in as gentle 
and pure tone as possible : 66, 6, e, i, la, ah, ing. 

II. Chant the following on different notes of the scale, 
giving one line to each note : * 

' ' I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
To join the brimming river; 
For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

* See Churchill: "Vocal Culture," p. i, 



xxxvi INTRODUCTION 

" I wind about, and in and out, 
With here a blossom sailing, 
And here and there a lusty trout, 
And here and there a grayling." 

III. Read the following selections thoughtfully and 
appreciatively. In developing the different qualities of tone, 
do not trust overmuch to imitation; do not produce the 
tone simply from the outside. Think the thought clearly 
and feel the emotion genuinely. The primary sources of a 
good speaking lojie are clearly conceived thought and genuine 
emotion. 

" Grandma told me all about it, 
Told me so I could not doubt it, 
How she danced — my Grandma danced! — 

Long ago. 
How she held her pretty head, 
How her dainty skirt she spread, 
Turning out her little toes; 
How she slowly leaned and rose — 

Long ago. 

"Grandma's hair was bright and sunny; 
Dimpled cheeks, too — ah, how funny! 
Really quite a pretty girl, 

Long ago. 
Bless her! why, she wears a cap, 
Grandma does, and takes a nap 
Every single day; and yet 
Grandma danced the minuet 

Long ago. 

"Now she sits there, rocking, rocking 
Always knitting Grandpa's stocking— 
(Every girl was taught to knit 
Long ago). 



QUALITY xxxvn 

Yet her figure is so neat, 
And her ways so staid and sweet, 
I can almost see her now 
Bending to her partner's bow, 
Long ago. ' ' 
From Mary Mapes Dodge's " The Minuet." 



' Then said Damfreville, ' My friend, 
I must speak out at the end, 
Though I find the speaking hard. 
Praise is deeper than the lips : 
You have saved the King his ships, 
You must name your own reward. 
'Faith, our sun was near eclipsed! 
Demand whate'er you will, 
France remains your debtor still. 
Ask to heart's content and have! or 
My name's not Damfreville.' 

Then a beam of fun outbroke 

On the bearded mouth that spoke, 

As the honest heart laughed through 

Those frank eyes of Breton blue : 

' Since I needs must say my say, 

Since on board the duty's done, 

And from Malo Roads to Croisic 

Point, what is it but a run ? — 

Since 'tis ask and have, I may — 

Since the others go ashore — 

Come! A good whole holiday! 

Leave to go and see my wife, whom 

I call the Belle Aurore ! ' 

That he asked and that he got, — 

Nothing more. ' ' See page 192 . 



xxxvm INTRODUCTION 

tl It was his greatest pride in life that he had been a 
soldier, — a soldier of the Empire. He was known simply 
as " The Soldier "-, and it is probable there was not a man, 
and certain that there was not a child, in the Quarter who 
did not know the tall, erect old Sergeant with his white 
mustache, and his face seamed with two saber-cuts. 

"Yes, they all knew him, and knew how, when he was not 
over thirteen, he had received the cross which he always wore 
over his heart, sewed in the breast of his coat, from the hand 
of the Emperor himself." See page 109. 

" So you beg for a story, my darling, my brown-eyed 

Leopold, 
And you, Alice, with face like morning, and curling locks 

of gold; 
Then come, if you will, and listen — stand close beside 

my knee — 
To a tale of the Southern city, proud Charleston by the 

sea. 

" It was long ago, my children, ere ever the signal-gun 
That blazed above Fort Sumter had wakened the North 

as one; 
Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire 
Had marked where the unchained millions marched on 

to their heart's desire." 

THE OROTUND 

The Orotund is the Pure tone enlarged. It is as free from 
huskiness, nasality, and impurity of every sort as is the Pure 
tone. It is, however, fuller and deeper. When it is pro- 
duced, the resonance-chambers are made as large as possible, 
the lungs being expanded and the vocal passage thrown wide 
open, and the reenforcing vibrations to a great extent come 
from the chest. Professor Monroe * shows the physiological 
differences between the two tones as follows: 

* Monroe: "Vocal and Physical Training," p. 36. Cowperthwait 
& Co., Philadelphia. 



QUALITY xxxix 

In Pure Tone. In Orotund. 

i. The larynx rises. i. The larynx is depressed. 

2. The soft palate partially 2. The soft palate is raised. 

falls. 

3. The tongue is in its nat- 3. The back of the tongue is 

ural position. dropped. 

4. The vocal passage is nar- 4. The vocal passage is wide. 

row. 

5. The air-column is di- 5. The air-column is directed 

rected to the front part (in learning) vertically, 

of the mouth. 

This full, deep tone is expressive of deep feeling, of 
thoughts and emotions that are courageous, patriotic, reverent, 
solemn, dignified, vast, lofty, grand, noble, sublime. 

Practice reading the following selections. By paraphras- 
ing the expression, and studying the details, and dwelling 
upon the thought, see the picture clearly, apprehend the 
thought firmly, and feel the emotion genuinely; for it is 
only by so doing that you can secure a tone that is truly ex- 
pressive, that is more than "sounding brass and tinkling 
cymbal ". In reading Byron's " Apostrophe ", for example, 
let the mind and imagination govern the voice. Imagine 
yourself standing upon the shore, looking out over the vast 
expanse of water, as it heaves and rolls before you. 

" Roll on, thou deep and dark -blue ocean, roll! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin, — his control 
Stops with the shore : upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
When for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncofnn'd, and unknown. " 
From Byron's " Apostrophe to the Ocean." 



xl INTRODUCTION 

"And once again, — 
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
Of either Brutus ! Once again, I swear 
The eternal city shall be free; her sons 
Shall walk with princes." 

From Mitford's " Rienzi to the Romans." 

11 No royal governor, indeed, sits in yon stately capitol, 
no hostile fleet for many a year has vexed the waters of our 
coasts, nor is any army but our own likely to tread our soil. 
Not such are our enemies to-day. They do not come 
proudly stepping to the drum-beat with bayonets flashing in 
the morning sun. But wherever party spirit shall strain the 
ancient guarantees of freedom ; or bigotry and ignorance shall 
lay their fatal hands upon education; or the arrogance of 
caste shall strike at equal rights; or corruption shall poison 
the very springs of national life — there, minute-men of 
liberty, are your Lexington Green and Concord Bridge; and 
as you love your country and your kind, and would have 
your children rise up and call you blessed, spare not the 
enemy! Over the hills, out of the earth, down from the 
clouds, pour in resistless might. Fire from every rock and 
tree, from door and window, from hearthstone and chamber; 
hang upon his flank and rear from noon to sunset, and so, 
through a land blazing with holy indignation, hurl the hordes 
of ignorance and corruption and injustice back, back, in 
utter defeat and ruin." 

From G. W. Curtis's " Minute Men of '76." 

11 Sons of New England, look not down, it is full of deadly 
peril. Stand on the watch-towers of civilization, and cease- 
lessly cry out to the people, ' Oh, look not down! ' Sons 
of New England, in pulpit, at teacher's desk, in professors' 
chairs, in the halls of Congress, on the bench, in the count- 
ing-room, in the shop, by the loom, on the farm, wherever 
you may be, at home or abroad, in the name of your fathers' 



QUALITY xli 

God, for the sake of the precious Republic, cry out to the 
people, ' Look up, look up ! ' and looking up they will ever 
see they are bearing a Republic, founded in justice, liberty, 
and equal rights. Seeing and remembering, they will have 
God's help and our country shall be saved/' See page 7. 

' ' Mr. President, ours is the one great nation of this con- 
tinent; Mother of Republics, her lullaby has been sung over 
every cradle of liberty in the New World. Under the 
inspiration of her glorious example, the last throne has dis- 
appeared from the Western Hemisphere, and the Old World's 
dominion over American territory and American affairs will 
not outlast the morning of the twentieth century." 

See page 66. 

1 ' Bless the Lord, O my soul : and all that is within me, 
bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget 
not all his benefits: who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who 
healeth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy life from 
destruction; who crowneth thee with loving kindness and 
tender mercies; who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; 
so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's. . . . 

"The Lord has prepared his throne in the heavens; and 
his kingdom ruleth over all. Bless the Lord, ye his angels, 
that excel in strength, that do his commandments, hearken- 
ing unto the voice of his word. Bless ye the Lord, all ye 
his hosts; ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure. Bless 
the Lord, all his works in all places of his dominion: bless 
the Lord, O my soul." From Psalm cm. 

THE ASPIRATE QUALITY 

The Aspirate is a breathy, impure quality; in its produc- 
tion more breath being allowed to escape than is vocalized. 
It varies all the way from a soft whisper in which no breath 
is vocalized to a tone closely resembling the Pure. 

In these various forms it is expressive of many kinds of 



xlii INTRODUCTION 

"suppressed feeling", — of tenderness, hush, quiet, exhaus- 
tion, weariness, secrecy, caution, fear, and even vehement 
passion. 

To aid in applying this tone correctly, read the following 
selections, aiming not to repeat mere words but to convey 
real emotion. 

" Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself onward — step by 
step down the hill, inch by inch across the ground — to the 
door of the hospital ; and then, while dying eyes brightened, 
while dying men held back their souls from the eternities to 
cheer him, gasped out : ' I did — but do — my duty, boys — and 
the dear — old — flag — never once — touched the ground. ' ' 

See page 222. 

" Vain — vain — give o'er! His eye 
Glazes apace. He does not feel you now — 
Stand back! I'll paint the death-dew on his brow! 

Gods! if he do not die 
But for one moment — one — till I eclipse 
Conception with the scorn of those calm lips ! 

"Shivering! Hark! he mutters 
Brokenly now — that was a difficult breath — 
Another ? Wilt thou never come, O Death ? 

Look ! how his temple flutters ! 
Is his heart still ? Aha ! lift up his head ! 
He shudders — gasps — Jove help him! — so — he's dead." 

From Willis's " Parrhasius." 

" The bell! the bell again! shut out, 
Shut out its ringing knell ! 
' A fever dream ? ' Great God, my soul 
Doth know the sound full well ! 
Have I not heard it pealing slow 
Above me night and day! 
Has it not hung about my neck 
Whene'er I've tried to pray! 



QUALITY xliii 

Have I not heard it? hear the peal! 

Louder and louder yet ! 

I shall go mad ! Shut out the sound ! 

O God, could I forget ! 

And hark! it brings another sound, — 

Hush! sure, you heard it then, 

The shrieking of the helpless throng, 

The groans of dying men — 

The curses! hear them! " See page 9. 



THE GUTTURAL QUALITY 

The Guttural like the Aspirate is an impure quality. In 
the production of this harsh, throaty tone, the voice-organs 
are not allowed free play as they are in the production of the 
Pure tone; they are held rigid, the muscles of the throat 
being contracted. 

As these physiological conditions suggest, this tone is 
expressive of harsh, fierce, savage, malignant emotions, — of 
petulance, irritation, disgust, malevolence, contempt, scorn, and 
revenge. This tone is easily acquired and should be used 
sparingly, for when used too frequently it is especially dis- 
agreeable. 

To aid in understanding the use of this tone, practice the 
expression of the following selections: 

' ' Now, bring forth your tortures ! Slaves ! while you tear 
this quivering flesh, remember how often Regulus has beaten 
your armies and humbled your pride. Cut as he would have 
carved you! Burn deep as his curse! " 

From Kellogg's " Regulus to the Carthaginians." 

" Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword, 
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, 
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts 
The gates of honor on me, — turning out 



xliv INTRODUCTION 

The Roman from his birthright; and for what ? 
To fling your offices to every slave ! 
Vipers, that creep where men disdain to climb, 
And, having wound their loathsome track to the top 
Of this huge, mouldering monument of Rome, 
Hang hissing at the nobler man below. . . . 

' ' But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my Lords! 
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 
To leave you in your lazy dignities. 
But here I stand and scoff you ! here I fling 
Hatred and full defiance in your face ! 
Your Consul's merciful; — for this, all thanks. 
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline! " 

From Croly's "Catiline's Defiance." 

" Envoys of Rome, the poor camp of Spartacus is too 
much honored by your presence. And does Rome stoop to 
parley with the escaped gladiator, with the rebel ruflian, for 
whom heretofore no slight has been too scornful ? You have 
come, with steel in your right hand, and with gold in your 
left. What heed we give the former, ask Cossinius; ask 
Claudius; ask Varinius; ask the bones of your legions that 
fertilize the Lucanian plains. And for your gold — would ye 
know what we do with that, — go ask the laborer, the trodden 
poor, the helpless and the hopeless, on our route; ask all 
whom Roman tyranny had crushed, or Roman avarice 
plundered." See page 156. 

1 ' I raised the dying youth tenderly in my arms. O, the 
magnanimity of Rome! Your haughty leaders, enraged at 
being cheated of their death-show, hissed their disappoint- 
ment, and shouted, ' Kill ! ' See page 157. 



QUALITY xlv 

" And the praetor drew back as if I were pollution, and 
sternly said, ' Let the carrion rot ! There are no noble men 
but Romans.' And so, fellow gladiators, must you, and so 
must I, die like dogs." See page 301. 



THE FALSETTO AND THE NASAL 

Besides these four qualities two others should be men- 
tioned, principally that they may be avoided, — the Falsetto 
and the Nasal. The Falsetto is a shrill, artificial tone, of a 
pitch above the natural register. It is often called a head 
tone, since its resonance is in the upper part of the pharynx. 
The Nasal, an impure twanging quality, is caused by 
obstruction in the nostrils or by a wrong management of the 
soft palate. The legitimate use of these tones is rare. The 
Falsetto is sometimes used in impersonating old age or in 
expressing great excitement, and the Nasal is used in express- 
ing drollery and laziness, but in general the Falsetto is either 
ridiculous or tiresome, and the Nasal especially repulsive. 

In remedying the latter a speaker needs to train his ear 
that he may be able to tell a pure from a nasal tone. Here 
a teacher will be of great service to a speaker, both in telling 
him when his tone is nasal, and in speaking a pure tone for 
him to imitate. Secondly, in remedying this defect, a 
speaker should strengthen the muscles of the soft palate. 
This may be done and a " perception of the denasalizing 
action of the soft palate " gained by the following exercise: 

" Sound the consonants m b without separating the lips, 
as in pronouncing the word ' ember'. The change from m 
to b is nothing more than the covering of the nasal aperture 
by the soft palate; and the change from b to m, without 
separating the lips, as in the word ' submit ', is merely the 
uncovering of the nasal aperture." * 

*A. M. Bell; "The Faults of Speech," p. 31. Edgar S. Werner, 
New York. 



xlvi INTRODUCTION 

Lastly, a speaker should keep the nostrils as healthly as 
possible. The Nasal tone is often the result of mouth- 
breathing and catarrh. The nostrils may be kept open and 
healthy by the aid of the breathing exercises, especially the 
humming exercise on page xi. 



FORCE 

Force, as far as it concerns a speaker, is the power or 
strength exerted in the production of speech. The intensity 
of the force employed depends upon the physical condition 
of the speaker, his natural strength of voice, upon the 
thought or emotion expressed, and upon the size of the 
audience to which he is speaking. A frequent result of the 
employment of force in speaking is loudness, — frequent but 
not necessary, for a person may speak with force and yet in 
a whisper or in a half-vocalized tone. 

How loud shall one speak ? is a question of importance. 
Look out for the beginning. There is much of practical 
sense in the old rhyme : 

" Begin low, 
Speak slow; 
Take fire, 
Rise higher; 
When most impressive 
Be self-possessive." 

At first speak only so loud as is necessary to make all 
your audience hear. Never go below that ; for a speech with 
a word or phrase dropped out of it every few minutes is as 
provoking as a clipped newspaper. Make sure that the man 
in the back part of the hall hears you ; but in doing so do 
not bawl, shriek, or rant. Remember that correct breath- 
ing, distinct articulation, and the knack of throwing your 
voice out will make your speech more audible and more 
agreeable than will mere shouting. Never give the impression 



FORCE xlvii 

that you are doing your utmost all the time; even in your im- 
passioned moments show that you have reserve force; there 
is much power in repose. 

The degrees of force are manifold. For practical pur- 
poses, however, we may make four divisions — Subdued, 
Moderate, Declamatory, and Impassioned. These divisions 
vary with different speakers and with the same speaker under 
different conditions. What, for example, is Moderate for a 
mature and vigorous speaker may be Impassioned for a 
schoolboy, and a tone Declamatory in a study may be 
hardly more than Subdued in a large auditorium. Speaking, 
then, under these conditions, we may say that 

Subdued force is employed in the expression of tenderness, 
comfort, pity, sympathy, tranquillity, quietude, weariness, feeble- 
ness, secrecy, timidity, indifference. 

Moderate force is employed in the expression of didactic 
thought, unemotional discourse, gladness, joy, and nearly all 
the milder emotions. 

Declamatory force is used in the expression of patriotism, 
grandeur, courage, determination. 

Impassioned force is used in the expression of the strongest, 
most vehement and violent emotions, — defiance, anger, 
abhorrence, horror. 

Exercises 

Speak the following sentences as if addressing a person at 
first five feet from you, then ten, twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, 
one hundred, one hundred and fifty, two hundred : 

{a) Where are you going ? 

(b) Ask John to send me his grandfather's coat. 

(c) What boat is that off the Point ? Is that the 
Columbia ? 

(d) Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead! " 

(e) " On, on, you noble English, 

Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof. . . . 

Now attest, 



xlviii INTRODUCTION 

That those whom you called fathers did beget you : 
Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 
And teach them how to war! " 
(_/") ' ' And you good yeomen, 

Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear 
That you are worth your breeding. . . . 
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; 
Follow your spirit; and upon this charge, 
Cry — God for Harry! England! and Saint George! " 

Selections for Practice in Employing Different 
Degrees of Force 

subdued 

' ' So tired, so tired, my heart and I ! 
It was not thus in that old time 
When Ralph sat with me neath the lime 
To watch the sunset from the sky. 
■ Dear love, you're looking tired,' he said; 
I, smiling at him, shook my head : 
'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I." 

From Mrs. Browning's "My Heirt and I." 

" ' My son,' — the aged father spoke, — 
' But idle dreams are these : 
You hear no bell — there is no sound 
But wind among the trees. 
See, here I hold the crucifix: 
Now lay aside thy care, 
And gaze thou on the holy cross, 
The while I kneel in prayer.' " See page 9. 

moderate 

" The year's at the spring 
And day's at the morn; 



FORCE xlix 

Morning's at seven; 
The hillside's dew-pearled; 
The lark's on the wing; 
The snail's on the thorn; 
God's in His heaven — 
All's right with the world! " 

From Browning's "Pippa Passes." 

" Dimple-cheeked and rosy-lipped, 
With his cap-brim backward tipped, 
Still in fancy I can see 
Little Tommy smile on me — 
Little Tommy Smith. 

" Little unsung Tommy Smith — 
Scarce a name to rhyme it with ; 
Yet most tenderly to me 
Something sings unceasingly — 
Little Tommy Smith. ' ' 

From Riley's "Little Tommy Smith." 

' ' A little watchfulness over ourselves will save us a great 
deal of watchfulness over others, and will permit the kindliest 
of religions to drop her inconvenient and unseemly talk of 
enmity and strife, cuirasses and breastplates, battles and 
exterminations. To produce as much happiness as we can, 
and to prevent as much misery, is the proper aim and end 
of true morality and true religion. Only give things their 
right direction; there is room, do but place and train them 
well. ' ' Epictetus. 

IMPASSIONED 

" 'Be still!' 
He shouted to the kneeling priest, 
' Stay, hold thy peace! Be still! 
Did he not say "Be merciful "? 
Did I show mercy when 
By mine own word the very streets 



1 INTRODUCTION 

Flowed down with lives of men ? 

Did I show mercy when that wail 

Of anguish rent the air ? 

Did I show mercy e'en to one 

In all that black despair? ' " See page 10. 

" Sir, when I heard principles laid down that place the 
murderers of Alton side by side with Otis and Hancock, 
with Quincy and Adams, I thought those pictured lips would 
have broken into voice to rebuke that recreant American, the 
slanderer of the dead. Sir, for the sentiment he has uttered 
on soil consecrated by the prayers of Puritans and the blood 
of patriots the earth should have yawned and swallowed him 
up ! " See page 330. 

DECLAMATORY 

" He would have seen his great arguments in the reply to 
Hayne, in the debates with Calhoun, inspiring, guiding, 
commanding, strengthening. The judge in the court is 
citing them. The orator in the Senate is repeating them. 
The soldier by the camp-fire is meditating them. The Union 
cannon is shotted with them. They are flashing from the 
muzzle of the rifle. They are gleaming in the stroke of the 
saber. They are heard in the roar of the artillery. They 
shine on the advancing banner. They mingle with the 
shouts of victory. They conquer in the surrender of Appo- 
mattox. They abide forever and forever in the returning 
reason of an estranged section and the returning loyalty of a 
united people. " See page 91. 

"Force compelled the signature of unwilling royalty to 
the Magna Charta; force put life into the Declaration of 
Independence and made effective the Emancipation Procla- 
mation; force beat with naked hands upon the iron gateway 
of the Bastile and made reprisal in one awful hour for cen- 
turies of kingly crime; force waved the flag of revolution 
over Bunker Hill and marked the snows of Valley Forge with 



PITCH li 

blood-stained feet; force held the broken line at Shiloh, 
climbed the flame-swept hill at Chattanooga, and stormed 
the clouds on Lookout heights; force marched with Sherman 
to the sea, rode with Sheridan in the valley of the Shenan- 
doah, and gave Grant victory at Appomattox; force saved 
the Union, kept the stars in the flag, made ' niggers ' men. 
The time for God's force has come again." See page 30. 

PITCH 

The Pitch of a sound is its place upon the musical scale. 
It must not be confused with loudness or with quality. 
Loudness depends upon the force with which the voice is 
sent from the larynx; quality upon the size, shape, and con- 
dition of the resonance-chambers and vocal cords; but pitch 
depends upon the rapidity with which the vocal cords 
vibrate. Therefore, although high pitch and loudness are 
generally associated, a sound may be "subdued" and far 
up on the scale or loud and well down among the lower 
notes. 

DEGREES OF PITCH 

Although the degrees of pitch are numerous, for purposes 
of clearness we may divide the range in pitch of the speaking 
voice into five parts, — Low, Very Low, Middle, High, and 
Very High. These divisions are of course relative; women as 
a general thing speaking at a higher pitch than men ; and the 
middle, normal, voice of one man being lower or higher than 
that of another. The dominant tone of the middle voice of 
men is on an average about D on the bass staff, while that 
of women is nearly an octave higher. The range of the 
average speaking voice is about an octave and a half. Of 
this the Very Low degree compasses two notes, the Low two, 
the Middle four, the High two, and the Very High two. 

The Middle Degree of Pitch appeals primarily to the in- 
tellect. Since the greater part of what we say is unemotional 
or is touched if at all with only the calmer emotions, this 



lii INTRODUCTION 

degree of pitch is used by far the most ; hence the importance 
of cultivating a good middle voice.* 

The Low and the Very Low express sentiments that are 
serious, solemn, gloomy, pathetic, discouraging, despairing, 
horrible, sublime, emotion " intense but controlled" . 

The High Degrees express Joy, brightness, gayety, ecstasy, 
intensity, astonishment, pain, fear, emotion " acute and un- 
controlled ' ' . 

Thoughtful and appreciative reading of the following 
selections will afford practice in securing the different degrees 
of pitch. 

Middle Pitch 

" ' What is it, Lillo ? ' said Romola, pulling his hair back 
from his brow. . . . 

"'Mamma Romola, what am I to be?' he said, well 
contented that there was a prospect of talking till it would 
be too late to con ' Spirto gentil ' any longer. 

" ' What should you like to be, Lillo ? . . .' 

" ' I should like to be something that would make me a 
great man, and very happy besides — something that would 
not hinder me from having a good deal of pleasure.' 

" ' That is not easy, my Lillo. It is only a poor sort of 
happiness that could ever come by caring very much about 
our own narrow pleasures. We can only have the highest 
happiness, such as goes along with being a great man, by 
having wide thoughts, and much feeling for the rest of the 
world as well as ourselves; and this sort of happiness often 
brings so much pain with it that we can only tell it from 
pain by its being what we would choose before everything 
else, because our souls see it is good. There are so many 
things wrong and difficult in the world that no man can be 
great — he can hardly keep himself from wickedness — unless 

* This suggestion may possibly be found valuable to teachers. Too 
many in the classroom, in their desire to make plain, use predominantly 
the high degree of pitch rather than the middle. 



PITCH liii 

he gives up thinking much about pleasure or rewards, and 
gets strength to endure what is hard and painful/ ' 

From George Eliot's "Romola." 

" Eastward of Zanesville, two or three 

Miles from the town, as our stage drove in, 
I on the driver's seat, and he 
Pointing out this and that to me, — 
On beyond us — among the rest — 
A grovey slope, and a fluttering throng 
Of little children, which he ' guessed ' 
Was a picnic, as we caught their thin 
High laughter, as we drove along, 
Clearer and clearer. Then suddenly 
He turned and asked, with a curious grin, 
What were my views on Slavery P ' Why? ' 
I asked, in return, with a wary eye. ' ' 

See page 234. 

Low and Very Low 

" Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all genera- 
tions. 

" Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou 
hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting 
to everlasting, thou art God. 

"Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, 
ye children of men. 

" For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday 
when it is past, and as a watch in the night. . . . 

' ' Return, O Lord, how long ? and let it repent thee con- 
cerning thy servants. 

" O satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice 
and be glad all our days. 

" Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast 
afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil. 

1 ' Let thy works appear unto thy servants, and thy glory 
unto thy children. 



iiv INTRODUCTION 

" And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: 
and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the 
work of our hands establish thou it. ' ' From Psalm xc. 

1 ' We see them part with those they love. Some are walk- 
ing for the last time in quiet, woody places, with the maidens 
they adore. We hear the whisperings and the sweet vows 
of eternal love as they lingeringly part forever. Others are 
bending over cradles, kissing babes that are asleep. Some 
are receiving the blessings of old men. Some are parting 
with mothers who hold them and press them to their hearts 
again and again, and say nothing. Kisses and tears, tears 
and kisses — divine mingling of agony and love! And some 
are talking with wives, and endeavoring with brave words, 
spoken in the old tones, to drive from their hearts the awful 
fear. We see them part. We see the wife standing in the 
door with the babe in her arms — standing in the sunlight 
sobbing. At the turn of the road a hand waves — she answers 
by holding high in her loving arms the child. He is gone 
and forever. . . . 

" We are at home when the news comes that they are 
dead. We see the maiden in the shadow of her first sorrow. 
We see the silvered head of the old man bowed with the last 
gnef. See page 326. 

" Sweet and low, sweet and low, 
Wind of the western sea, 
Low, low, breathe and blow, 
Wind of the western sea ! 
Over the rolling waters go, 
Come from the dying moon, and blow, 
Blow him again to me; 
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. 

" Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, 
Father will come to thee soon ; 
Rest, rest, on mother's breast, 
Father will come to thee soon; 



PITCH lv 

.Father will come to his babe in the nest, 
Silver sails all out of the west 
Under the silver moon : 
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep." 

From Tennyson's " The Princess." 

High 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of 

war. 
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre! " 
From Macaulay's " The Battle of Ivry." 

' ' Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee 
Jest and youthful Jollity, 
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, 
And love to live in dimple sleek ; 
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, 
And Laughter, holding both his sides. 
Come, and trip it as ye go 
On the light fantastic toe. ' ' 

From Milton's "L' Allegro." 

" I come from haunts of coot and hern, 
I make a sudden sally, 
And sparkle out among the fern, 
To bicker down a valley. 

" By thirty hills I hurry down, 
Or slip between the ridges; 
By twenty thorps, a little town, 
And half a hundred bridges. 

*' I chatter over stony ways, 
In little sharps and trebles, 
I bubble into eddying bays, 
I babble on the pebbles. 



lvi INTRODUCTION 

" With many a curve my banks I fret, 
By many a field and fallow, 
And many a fairy foreland set 
With willow-weed and mallow. 

" I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
To join the brimming river; 
For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

" I wind about, and in and out, 
With here a blossom sailing, 
And here and there a lusty trout, 
And here and there a grayling. 

" And here and there a foamy flake, 
Upon me, as I travel, 
With many a silvery water-break 
Above the golden gravel. 

" I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 
I slide by hazel covers, 
I move the sweet forget-me-nots 
That grow for happy lovers. 

" I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 
Among my skimming swallows; 
I make the netted sunbeam dance 
Against my sandy shallows. 

" I murmur under moon and stars 
In brambly wildernesses, 
I linger by my shingly bars, 
I loiter round my cresses. 

" And out again I curve and flow 
To join the brimming river; 
For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever." 

Tennyson's "The Brook. 



PITCH lvii 

Inflection 

In reading the preceding selections there is a change of 
pitch not only in turning from " The Brook " to "A Vision 
of War ", but also in passing from word to word and syllable 
to syllable. Moreover there is always in this change a slight 
pause; one sound is made and then, a pause intervening, 
we pass to the next one. When a change of pitch is made 
in this way, by a skip, it is called Discrete. There is, how- 
ever, a change of pitch in the pronunciation of a single 
syllable. In pronouncing "Oh", for example, the voice 
may begin low and rise in pitch, or begin high and descend. 
This change on a single syllable is called Concrete or Inflec- 
tion. This change, however, is not by a skip but by a glide. 
The difference between these two changes has been well 
illustrated by comparing the music of a piano with that of a 
violin. In playing the piano the musician strikes first one 
note and then skips to another; but in playing the violin he 
may draw the bow across one of the strings, at the same time 
moving the stop-finger that he has upon it up and down, so 
that one note glides into another. There is the same differ- 
ence between song and speech. A song note while it lasts 
remains upon one pitch; a speech note always changes in 
pitch. 

Changes in speech notes, or inflection, may be rising, fall- 
ing, or circumflex, gradual or abrupt, long or short. 

In rising inflection (') the voice, in pronouncing a single 
syllable, glides upward; in falling ( s ), downward; in simple 
circumflex ( A ), upward and then downward or (v) down- 
ward and then upward; in double circumflex there are 
various combinations of the upward and downward glides. 
The voice generally prepares for these different glides by 
striking a pitch above the dominant pitch of the sentence 
when the falling inflection is used ; when the rising, a little 
below. 



lviii INTRODUCTION 

In delicate changes of pitch, either discrete or concrete, 
may lie the secret of a speaker's power to convince, persuade, 
and charm. 

To have the proper control of pitch, to make it the 
obedient handmaid of expression, the following requisites 
are demanded: ability to comprehend the relation of one 
thought to another so as to distinguish the principal 
from the subordinate, quickness to comprehend the fine 
shades of meaning given by the various inflections, power to 
feel emotion genuinely, flexibility of voice, and nicety of 
ear. 

To obtain these practice, assiduous practice, is often 
necessary. In distinguishing one pitch from another, for 
example, some pupils find great difficulty. For such the 
task is to make, if possible, the dull ear acute, by striking 
the different keys of a piano, by practicing the musical scale, 
and by reading selections that necessitate a change of pitch, 
the ear being constantly kept on the alert to distinguish the 
different tones. Flexibility of voice may be developed by 
practice upon the musical scale, also by the reading of prose 
in which there is much dialogue. Conversation is the pattern 
furnished us by nature. Often, to be sure, in speaking to 
large audiences we must expand the conversational form, 
must raise it to the second or third power; and, moreover, 
into the expression of that which is solemn, reverent, and 
sublime we must not allow the conversational changes of 
pitch to enter and destroy the emotion; but at the same 
time, if we would be natural in our reading and speaking, 
conversation is the criterion by which we must constantly 
be measuring our expression. If we depart too far from that, 
we are certain to become insincere, stilted, monotonous, and 
unnatural. 

Although the many minute rules often given for keeping 
the voice up and letting it fall are of small value, the follow- 
ing general principles may be found of use in gaining the 
power to inflect correctly. 



PITCH lix 

I. The thought and the emotion to be expressed, the state 
of the speaker's mind and heart, not the form of the sentence, 
determine the direction, degree, and rapidity of inflection. 

" If I meet a man, but am not sure I know him, I may 
say, ' This is Mr. Smith ? ' I look into his face, and indicate 
my doubt by a rising inflection; but when I introduce him 
to another man, and say, ' This is Mr. Smith ', stating a 
definite fact of which I am positive, a falling inflection is 
heard. Phraseology manifests simply the grammatical rela- 
tions of words; inflection manifests more the logical relation 
of ideas. Hence, inflection has to do with the attitude of 
the mind, its degree of certainty, its relation to another mind, 
and has nothing to do with phraseology." * 

II. Strong, violent, uncontrolled emolio?i requires for its 
expression inflections that are abrupt and of great variation; 
in the expression of such passion the voice will sometimes range 
through a whole octave on a single syllable. But calmness, 
grandeur, reverence, are expressed with gradual and slight 
variations of pitch. 

" ' Who dares 7 — this was the patriot's cry, 
As striding from the desk he came — 
' Come out with me, in Freedom's name, 
For her to live, for her to die ? ' 
A hundred hands flung up reply, 
A hundred voices answered, .'I! ' " 

From Read's " Revolutionary Rising." 

" Give us the devotion of the young enthusiast of Paris, 
who, listening to Mirabeau in one of his surpassing vindica- 
tions of human rights, and seeing him fall from his stand, 
dying, as a physician proclaimed, for the want of blood, 
rushed to the spot and, as he bent over the expiring man, 
bared his arm for the lancet, and cried again and again, with 

* Curry: "Lessons in Vocal Expression," p. 173. The Expression 
Company, Boston. 



lx INTRODUCTION 

impassioned voice: ' Here, take it — oh! take it from me! 
let me die, so that Mirabeau and the liberties of my country 
may not perish ! '" See page 216. 

Reverence (Gradual and Slight Variations of Pitch) 

" Abide with me: fast falls the even-tide; 
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide: 
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, 
Help of the helpless, O abide with me." 

III. Uncertainly, surprise, irresolution, incompleteness, sus- 
pense, concession, complaisance, humbleness, timidity, docility, 
eutreaty, appeal generally require for their correct expression 
the rising inflection, 

" ' I do not know how to beat a retreat. Desaix never 
taught me that. But I can beat a charge. Oh ! I can beat 
a charge that would make the dead fall into line. I beat 
that charge at Mount Tabor, and I beat it again at the 
bridge of Lodi, and, oh ! may I beat it here ? ' 

See page 293. 

1 ' When I pass by the collective parties in this case, and 
recall the particular ones ; when I see that my own State is 
as deeply implicated in the trouble and the danger of it as 
any other, and shares to the full, with all of her Southern 
colleagues, in the most painful apprehensions of its issue ; 
when I see this, I turn involuntarily, and with unaffected 
deference of spirit, and ask, What in this exigent moment to 
Virginia, will Massachusetts do ? Will you, too, forgetting 
all the past, put forth a hand to smite her ignominiously 
upon the cheek ? " See page 214. 

"Charles Sumner insult the soldiers who had spilled their 
blood in a war for human rights ! Charles Sumner degrade 
victories, and depreciate laurels, won for the cause of uni- 
versal freedom ! — how strange an imputation!" See page 72. 



PITCH lxi 

IV. Positiveness, confidence, self-reliance, assurance, de- 
cision, firmness, conclusiveness, finality, generally require for 
their true expression the falling inflection. 

"There is one broad proposition upon which I stand. 
It is this: That an American sailor is an American citizen, 
and that no American citizen shall, with my consent, be 
subjected to the infamous punishment of the lash." 

See page 265. 

" If you could touch those bronze lips with the fire of 
speech, what do you think they would say ? They never 
said ' Yield ' in their life! " See page 13. 

V. The falling inflection should also be used in the expression 
of petulance, derision, arrogance, insolence, hatred, anger, 
revenge, rage, of feelings that are rough and repellant. 

''And slavery in all its ferociousness, even on its death- 
bed, cried out: ' Bury him with his niggers.' ' 

See page 14. 

" At last these mob yells came clanging through the din: 
' Take that back; take that back; make him take back that 
word "recreant"; he sha'n't go on till he has taken that 
back ! ' See page 330. 

VI. The circumflex inflections are used in the expression of 
sarcasm, raillery, and contempt. 

"Circumflex inflections are always used," says Mr. 
Southwick, ' ' when we wish to say something that the words 
themselves do not express. We often say, ' oh, yes ' or ' oh, 
no ' when it is clear that we mean just the opposite, and this 
meaning is conveyed to the listener by a circumflex inflec- 
tion. ' ' * 

' ' The sword dropped from my hands. I raised the dying 
youth tenderly in my arms. O, the magnanimity of Rome ! 
Your haughty leaders, enraged at being cheated of their 

* Southwick: "Elocution and Action," p. 79. Edgar S. Werner, 
New York. 



Ixii INTRODUCTION 

death-show, hissed their disappointment, and shouted, 
' Kill ! ' See page 157. 

"Sir Peter Teazle. Very well, ma'am, very well; so 
a husband is to have no influence, no authority ? 

" Lady T. Authority/ No, to be sure: if you wanted 
authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not 
married me ; I am sure you were old enough. 

" Sir P. Old enough! ay, there it is! Well, well, Lady 
Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your 
temper, I'll not be ruined by your extravagance. 

"Lady T. My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more 
extravagant than a woman ought to be." 

From Sheriden's " School for Scandal." 

" upright judge ! — Mark, Jew: — learned judge / . . . 

learned judge / — Mark, Jew : — a learned judge / 
A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 

Now, Infidel, I have thee on the hip. . . . 
A Daniel, still I say, a second Daniel. 

1 thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word." 

Shakespere's "Merchant of Venice," Act IV, Scene I. 

Exercises ix Pitch and Inflection 

I. Sing the scale, ascending and descending, at different 
rates of movement, — " slow ", " very slow ", " moderate ", 
" fast ", and " very fast ". 

II. Sing the first and eighth notes of the scale. Sing the 
first, third, fifth, and eighth notes; then the eighth, fifth, 
third, and first. 

III. Chant the following lines, first on the lowest note of 
the scale, then on the highest: 

" He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree! " 

" Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells; 

King John, your king and England's, doth approach. . . . 
Open your gates, and give the victors way." 



PITCH lxiii 

IV. Say " yes ", giving it the inflection that expresses (a) 
firmness, (b) indifference, (c) contempt, (d) uncertainty, (e) 
astonishment. 

V. Say "And Brutus is an honorable man" in such a 
way as to express (a) surprise, {b) indignation, {c) sincerity, 
(d) uncertainty, (e) sarcasm. 

VI. Did John find it in the attic ? 
What ? (What did you say ?) 
Did John find it in the attic ? 
What ? (Find what ?) 

The purse. 

What! (I'm surprised.) 
A purse filled with gold dollars. 
What ! (Incredulity. ) 
I believe James stole it and hid it there. 
What ? (Indignation. My brother James is honest.) 
They have convicted him of treason ? 
They have. (Simple assertion.) 
They have convicted him of treason ? 

They have. (Satisfaction. He deserved to be convicted. ) 
Will they convict him of treason ? 
They have. (Contemptuously. ) 
They have convicted him of treason. 
They have ? (Surprise. ) 
They have convicted him of treason. 
They have. (Pity. Poor fellow! He is innocent.) 
They have convicted him of treason. 

They have. (Indignation. I will make those men atone 
for this injustice.) 

They have not convicted him of treason. 
They have. (You are mistaken. ) 
They have convicted him of treason. 
They have. (Sarcasm.) 

VII. Read the following: 

" The President of the United States, discussing the plea 
that the South should be left to solve this problem, asks ; 



lxiv INTRODUCTION 

' Are they at work upon it ? What solution do they offer ? 
When will the black man cast a free ballot ? ' When will 
the black man cast a free ballot ? When ignorance anywhere 
is not dominated by the will of the intelligent; when the 
laborer anywhere casts a vote unhindered by his boss, — then 
and not till then will the ballot of the negro be free. ' ' 

See page 249. 

''Suddenly an officer galloped up and spoke to the 
lieutenant of the nearest battery. 

' Where's the colonel ? ' 

1 Killed. ' 

' Where's your captain ? ' 

' Dead there under the gun. ' 

' Are you in command ? ' 

' I suppose so. ' 

' Well, hold this hill. ' 

' How long ? ' 

1 Forever. ' And he galloped off. 

His voice was heard clear and ringing in a sudden lull, 
and the old Sergeant, clutching his musket, shouted : 
" ' We will, forever.' " See page no. 



TIME 

Awake! for morning in the Bowl of Night 
Has flung the Stone that put the Stars to Flight: 
And lo! the Hunter of the East has caught 
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light." 

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. 

11 Enough! we're tired, my heart and I. 
We sit beside the headstone thus, 
And wish that name were carved for us. 
The moss reprints more tenderly 
The hard types of the mason's knife, 



TIME lxv 

As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life 
With which we're tired, my heart and I." 

From Mrs. Browning's " My Heart and I." 

One who reads the preceding selections with ears open can 
readily perceive that an important element of vocal expres- 
sion is Time. Time, as an element of expression, manifests 
itself in three ways: by length of syllables, by pauses, and by 
rate of movement. 

The length of syllables is determined by the nature of the 
constituent vowels and consonants. Some of the elementary 
sounds can easily be prolonged, while others it is impossible 
to lengthen. To the first class [a as in ale, arm, all, or air, 
e as in eve or err, i as in isle, o as in old, oo as in ooze, u 
as in use, oi as in oil, ou as in our, I, m, n, r, v, w, y, z, 
Ih as in then, ng, and zh) has been given the name contin- 
uant sounds; to the second (a as in ask, a, e, i, o, u, short, 
&> d, g, f, h, j, k, p, s, t, th as in thin, ch, sh, and wh) 
stopt sounds.* When syllables are made up entirely of con- 
tinuant sounds, as " marm ", " noon ", " now ", " lone ", 
"more", they maybe prolonged a great deal. Such are 
called Indefinite syllables. When syllables are made up 
entirely of stopt sounds, as " pat ", " tot ", " tag ", " dip ", 
"kick", we cannot prolong them without drawling; such 
are called Immutable. But when syllables are made up of 
both stopt and continuant sounds, as "gait", "mad", 
"ark", "wet", "rope", they are capable of slight pro- 
longation; such are called Mutable. 

These three kinds of syllables the skillful writer, whether 
of prose or poetry, consciously or unconsciously uses to his 
advantage. This the reader or speaker also must do if he is 
to express thought or emotion persuasively. He may, to be 
sure, do this unconsciously, especially if he have a musical 
ear and power to feel emotion genuinely, but his right use 

* See Fulton and Trueblood: ^Practical Elocution," p. 46. Ginn & 
Co., Boston. 



Ixvi INTRODUCTION 

of quantity will for that reason be none the less potent. To 
give to each syllable its appropriate quantity adds marvel- 
ously to the effectiveness of reading or speaking. A curt, 
snappish pronunciation of syllables naturally long may rob 
a sentence entirely of its pathos, solemnity, and grandeur, 
and "a false bombastic swell of voice never sounds so 
ridiculous as when the injudicious or unskillful reader or 
speaker attempts to interfere with the conditions of speech, 
and to prolong, under a false excitement of utterance, those 
sounds which nature has irrevocably determined short." * 

Pronounce the words and read the selections that follow, 
aiming to give to each syllable its proper quantity; do not 
be over-abrupt, do not drawl. 

" Nowhere fairer, sweeter, rarer, 
Does the golden-locked fruit-bearer 
Through his painted woodlands stray 
Than where hillside oaks and beeches 
Overlook the long, blue reaches, 
Silver coves and pebbled beaches, 
And green isles of Casco Bay; 
Nowhere day, for delay, 
With a tenderer look beseeches, 
' Let me with my charmed earth stay. ' ' ' 

From Whittier's "The Ranger." 

' ' Two Voices are there ; one is of the sea, 
One of the mountains; each a mighty Voice: 
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice, 
They were thy chosen music, Liberty! 
There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee 
Thou fought'st against him; but hast vainly striven : 
Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, 
Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. 
Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft : 

* Murdoch and Russell: " Vocal Culture," p. 143. Ticknor & Fields 
Boston. 



TIME lxvii 

Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left — 
For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be 
That Mountain floods should thunder as before, 
And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, 
And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee! " 

From Wordsworth's " England and Switzerland, 1802." 

Pause 

Time also manifests itself through Pauses, — between 
words, clauses, and sentences. Pauses are often indicated 
to the eye by punctuation-marks, and the pupil used to be 
told to pause long enough to count one at a comma, two at 
a semicolon, three at a colon, and four at a period. These 
minute rules implied that punctuation-marks tell exactly 
how often and how long a reader should pause. As a matter 
of fact they do not. The ear needs more help and more 
respite than does the eye. The reader often has to make a 
much longer pause at a comma or semicolon in one place 
than he does in another; he should also pause in many 
places where there are no punctuation-marks, and often pay 
to a mark no heed at all. 

" Behold the condemned Claudius\and Cynthia, whom 
he lately took for his wife." 

" The Oak\one day, said to the Reed." 

Moreover, mechanical rules, directing a reader to pause 
before an ' ' infinitive phrase, a relative clause, or a conjunction 
used disjunctively " are practically useless. The length and 
frequency of a reader's pauses depend upon the significance 
and difficulty of the thought and the intensity of the 
emotion. 

Movement 

The third manifestation of Time is Movement. This is 
to a great extent the result of Pause and Quantity; but while 
Pause and Quantity deal with the smaller elements of speech, 
with the word, a small group of words, Movement deals with 



lxviii INTRODUCTION 

larger groups, with the sentence, the paragraph, and the whole 
discourse. Movement concerns itself with rhythm and with 
rate. The first has to do with the laws of versification, with 
the arrangement of accented and unaccented syllables so that 
the vocal sounds will flow smoothly and harmoniously. 
Rate has been well defined as " the application of Quantity 
and Pause to a collection of words. "* Whether the rate 
shall be fast or very fast, moderate, slow, or very slow, 
depends upon the thought and emotion to be expressed. 

Principles to Determine Pause and Movement. 

I. Words which present single ideas should be grouped to- 
gether. 

" There was once a child\and he wandered about a great 
deal\and thought of a number of things." 

" Out of the North\the wild news came,\ 
Far flashing\on its wings of flame, \ 
Swift as the boreal light\which flies 
At midnight\through the startled skies. \ 
And there was tumult\in the air,\ 
The fife's shrill note,\the drum's loud beat,\ 
And through the wide land\everywhere\ 
The answering tread of hurrying feet. "\ 

See page 163. 

" Through the whole afternoon\there had been a tremen- 
dous cannonading of the fort\from the gunboats and the 
land forces ;\the smooth\regular\engineer lines were 
broken, \and the fresh-sodded embankments\torn and 
roughened\by the unceasing rain of shot and shell. \\ 
About six o'clock\there came moving up the island, \over 
the burning sands and under the burning sky,\a stalwart,\ 
splendid-appearing set of men,"\who looked equal to any 

♦Fulton and Trueblood: "Practical Elocution," p. 321. Ginn & 
Co., Boston. 



TIME lxix 

daring, \and capable of any heroism, \\men whom nothing 
could daunt\and few things subdue." See page 220. 

II. In phrasing, indeed in the correct use of all the e\ merits 
of expression, a reader will be greatly aided by irai?iing the eye 
to keep well ahead of the voice. 

It makes all the difference in the world whether a reader 
lays hold of the thought before pronouncing the words or 
after. One results in mechanical repetition; the other, in 
intelligent expression. 

III. Ordinary, unimpassioned didactic discourse requires 
moderate movement. 

" There is a saying which is in all good men's mouths, 
namely, that they are stewards or ministers of whatever talents 
are entrusted to them. Only, is it not a strange thing that 
while we more or less accept the meaning of that saying, so 
long as it is considered metaphorical, we never accept its 
meaning in its own terms ? You know the lesson is given 
us under the form of a story about money. Money was 
given to the servants to make use of : the unprofitable servant 
dug in the earth, and hid his Lord's money. Well, we, in 
our poetical and spiritual application of this, say that of 
course money doesn't mean money — it means wit, it means 
intellect, it means influence in high quarters, it means 
everything in the world except itself." 

From Ruskin's " The True Use of Wealth." 

IV. Phrases expressing the significant , suggestive, essential 
thoughts of a discourse, the key-thoughts as it were, generally 
require for their correct expression moderate or slow movement 
zvilh comparatively long pauses either before or after them. 

" I would still, with the last impulse of that soul, with 
the last gasp of that voice, implore you to remember this 
truth : God has given America to be free. " See P a S e 2 77- 

" Once in Persia ruled a king 
Who upon his signet ring 



lxx INTRODUCTION 

'Graved a motto true and wise, 
Which, when held before his eyes, 
Gave him counsel at a glance 
Fit for any change or chance. 
Solemn words, and these were they: 
"Even this shall pass away.'' " 

' ' In the meantime, when there were gathered together an 
innumerable multitude of people, insomuch that they trode 
one upon another, he began to say unto his disciples first of 
all, Beware ye of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is 
hypocrisy." Luke xn. i. 

V. New, strange, obscure, closely reasoned thoughts require 
for their expression moderate or slow moveme?it with frequent 
pauses. 

The speaker or reader must seem to have time enough to 
handle the thought and must give to the audience time to 
grasp the meaning of his words. Even if he has the thought 
well in hand so that it presents no difficulty to him, by 
pausing he will give the impression of naturalness, give the 
impression that he is thinking, that there is a connection 
between his tongue and brain, that he is not simply repeat- 
ing words but conveying ideas. On the other hand, in 
expressing matter easily comprehended he must not insult 
the intelligence of his audience by pausing too frequently. 
The speaker or reader, as far as the thought is concerned, 
should keep his hearers well at his heels, but should not allow 
them to run ahead of him. 

VI. Sentiments that are brisk, sprightly, merry, playful, en- 
thusiastic, energetic, boisterous, violent, furious, uncontrolled, 
require fast or very fast movement with short pauses. 

" It requires no space in history's crowded page to tell 
how Todd could stand up by a chair when eight months old, 
and crow and laugh and doddle his little chubby arms till 
he quite upset his balance, and pulling the chair down witn 
him, would laugh and crow louder than ever, and kick, and 






TIME lxxi 

crawl, and sprawl, and jabber; and never lift a whimper of 
distress but when being rocked to sleep." 

From Riley's "Todd." 

" And all the earth is gay; 
Land and sea 
Give themselves up to jollity, 
And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday; — 
Thou child of joy 
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 
Shepherd boy! " 

From Wordsworth's " Ode on Immortality." 

" Now you see the water foaming all around. See how 
fast you pass that point! Up with the helm! Now turn. 
Pull hard! quick! quick! quick! pull for your lives; pull 
till the blood starts from your nostrils, and the veins stand 
like whipcords upon your brow. Set the mast in the socket! 
hoist the sail ! Ah ! ah ! it is too late ! Shrieking, cursing, 
howling, blaspheming, over they go." See page 180. 

VII. Sentiments that are gentle, pathetic, dismal, dignified, 
stately, reverential, vast, noble, exalted, sublime require slow 
or very slow movement with long pauses. 

" I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence 
cometh my help. 

' ' My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and 
earth. 

' ' He will not suffer thy foot to be moved : he that keepeth 
thee shall not slumber. 

' ' Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor 
sleep." 

!< Within an upper chamber lay the king, 
His white face, 'gainst the pillow scarce as white, 
Gleamed ghastly — lip and hand and brow 
Were chilling with the icy touch of him 
Who comes but once — who comes alike to all. 



lxxii INTRODUCTION 

About the room the waxen tapers tall 
Lit up the shadows, while the black-robed priests 
Stood round the couch with ' Host and Crucifix, ' 
The ceremonial of the sacrament. " See page 7. 

" Dead! one of them shot by the sea in the east, 
And one of them shot in the west by the sea. 
Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the feast 
And are wanting a great song for your Italy free, 
Let none look at me/" 

See page 208. 

EMPHASIS 

' ' This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream : — 
There spread a cloud of dust along a plain; 
And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged 
A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords 
Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner 
Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes. 
A craven hung along the battle's edge, 
And thought, ' Had I a sword of keener steel — 
That blue blade that the king's son bears, — but this 
Blunt thing — ! ' he snapt and flung it from his hand, 
And lowering crept away and left the field. 
Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead, 
And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, 
Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand, 
And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout 
Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down, 
And saved a great cause that heroic day." * 

A careful reader of the preceding lines at once sees that 
all the words are not on the same level. Some are in the 
background; some in the foreground. Every phrase has its 

* Reprinted, by special arrangement with, and permission of, the 
publishers, from "Poems by Edward Rowland Sill," copyright, 1887, 
by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston. 



EMPHASIS lxxiii 

important word, and every clause and sentence its important 
word or phrase. The prominence given to these significant 
words and phrases by means of the elements of expression is 
Emphasis. 

Emphasis shows the logical relation between the parts of 
the sentence, the relative value of each, and suggests mean- 
ings not fully expressed. It shows that a reader has looked 
between the lines. By slight variations of emphasis a sen- 
tence may often be given as many different meanings as it 
has words. Notice, for example, the following sentence: 

i. Did John give you books? (I am surprised; I heard 
that he did, but I could hardly believe it. ) 

2. Did Jo/in give you books ? (I thought James or Peter 
gave them to you.) 

3. Did John give you books ? (I thought you bought 
them of him; John doesn't very often give anything away.) 

4. Did John give. you books ? (He gave some to Mary 
and Eliza; I didn't know that he gave them to you.) 

5. Did John give you books ? (I thought he gave you 
pictures.) 

6. Did John give you | books? (That is a strange present, 
for you. He knew you don't like books and haven't any 
use for them. ) 

Means of Emphasis 

The means of emphasis have already been spoken of. 
We may emphasize a word (1) by speaking it louder or 
lower; (2) by pausing either before or after it, or by dwelling 
upon the sounds; (3) by making the pitch higher or lower; 
(4) by varying the quality of the voice. The first, emphasis 
by mere force, is the easiest to apply. It is often used in 
connection with the other forms, but by itself it is the least 
satisfactory. Overused it becomes a thump, thump, and is 
sure to rob expression of all delicacy of touch and suggestion 
of culture. The more artistic methods of emphasis are 
varying the pitch, the quality, and the time. None of these 



Ixxiv INTRODUCTION 

should, however, be used exclusively. A pupil should prac- 
tice upon all the different forms. Only thus will he have 
them all at his command, and escape the fatal fault of 
always making a thought prominent in the same way; by 
using the aspirate quality, for example, as do some public 
speakers, or the intermittent stress as do others. 

No very definite rules for emphasis can be given. One 
cannot say that the subject or the predicate of a sentence is 
to be emphasized ; for the emphasis may fall upon a preposi- 
tion or an article. Neither can one say that in this case the 
emphasis should be applied by varying the pitch, in that the 
quality, in another the time. The following general princi- 
ples of emphasis have, however, been given in one form or 
another many times and have been found of practical value. 

I. Put special emphasis on only a few words. Since all em- 
phasis is relative, to try to emphasize all the words in a sen- 
tence is to emphasize none. 

II. Words or phrases expressing ideas that are new should 
be emphasized ; those expressing ideas which are repeated, — un- 
less they are repeated^ for emphasis, — which have been implied, 
which may be taken for granted, or are easily inferred from 
what has been said, should not be emphasized. 

New Ideas 

" This is the state that Winlhrop founded. Warren died 
for her liberties and Webster defended her good name. 
Sumner bore stripes in behalf of her beliefs, and her sons 
gave their lives on every battlefield for the one flag she held 
more sacred than her own. She has fought for liberty. She 
has done justice between man and man. She has sought to 
protect the weak, to save the erring, to raise the unfortunate. 
She has been the fruitful mother of ideas as of men. . . . She 
has kept her shield unspotted and her honor pure. To us, her 
loving children, she is a great heritage and a great trust." 

See page 171. 



EMPHASIS lxxV 

Ideas Repeated or Implied 

" A chill no coat, however stout, 
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, 
A hard dull bitterness of cold, 
The coming of the storm foretold. ' ' Whittter. 

" Then soon he rose; the prayer was strong; 
The psalm was warrior David's song." 

See page 164. 

" On the morning of Saturday, July second, the President 
was a contented and happy man — not in an ordinary degree, 
but joyfully, almost boyishly, happy." Seepage 142. 

li G/eat in life, he was surpassingly great in death." 

See page 143. 

Ideas Repeated for Emphasis 

11 On, on, you noble English, 
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war proof." 

"As the columns halted Napoleon shouted to him: 
" Beat a retreat /" The boy did not stir. " Gamin, beat a 
retreat ! ' ' See page 293. 

" Ho, sir, you knew of this fair work — you are an accom- 
plice in this deception which has been practiced on us— -you 
have been a main cause of our doing injustice! " 

" If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a 
foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay 
down my arms — never — never — never, ' ' See page 92. 

' Yes, this old and absurd lex talionis — this law of blood 
for blood — I have combated all my life — all my life, Gentle- 
men of the Jury! " See page 69. 

III. Always the second, and often both, of a pair of words 
expressing contrasted ideas should be made emphatic ; or when 
the contrast is simply implied, the word suggesting the contrast 
should be emphasized. 



lxxvi INTRODUCTION 



Contrast 



" We do not count around us a few feeble veterans of the 
contest; we are girt by a cloud of witnesses. " 

"Our common liberty is consecrated by a common sor- 
row. ' ' 

" The stately mansion of power had been to him a weari- 
some hospital oipain." See page 143. 

"When I pass by the collective parties in this case and 
recall the particular ones," etc. See page 214. 

Second Term Emphasized and Not First 

1 You have just been told how, in the pomp and circum- 
stance of war, your returning armies came back to you, 
marching with proud and victorious tread, reading their 
glory in a nation's eyes! Let me picture to you the footsore 
Confederate soldier, as, buttoning up in his faded gray jacket 
the parole which was to bear testimony to his children of his 
fidelity and faith, he turned his face southward from Appo- 
mattox in April, 1865." Seepage 313. 

" Partakers in every peril, in the glory shall we not be 
permitted to participate?" ("Peril," expressing an idea 
that is repeated, as the preceding sentences will show, should 
not be emphasized.) 

Application of the Principles of Emphasis 

"CENTURIES AGO, on the rock-bound coast of MASSA- 
CHUSETTS BAY, one night there wis a WEDDING. The 
SKY was the roof that covered the high contracting parties, 
and the STARS painted by the finger of God were the 
FRESCO-WORK ; the music was that of the SINGING NIGHT- 
BIRD and the SURGE OF THE GRAY OLD OCEAN; the 
BIDDEN guests were the PURITAN FATHERS and the 
PURITAN MOTHERS ; the unbidden guests were the DUSKY 



EMPHASIS lxxvii 

SAVAGES ; the bride and the bridegroom were the MEET- 
ING-HOUSE and the SCHOOL-HOUSE, and from that marriage 

there was born a child. They christened it NEW ENGLAND 
CIVILIZATION." See page 5. 

It is impossible to show accurately the different values 
which any reader, with the various means at his command, 
will give to different words and phrases of a bit of discourse. 
Then, too, more than one reading may be correct. The 
preceding marked passage will help, however, to illustrate 
the principles of emphasis. At the beginning of a speech 
or a reading all is new; generally, therefore, in the first sen- 
tence a larger proportion of words will be emphasized than 
in the sentences that follow. In the first sentence of this 
selection, " centuries ago ", " rock-bound coast ", " Massa- 
chusetts Bay", are all made fairly prominent. The word, 
however, to which all the other words in the sentence should 
be made subservient is "wedding". Where the wedding 
was held, and when, are subordinate facts. "Wedding", 
then, should receive the most emphasis. The remaining 
words and phrases are not all of course of the same rank. 
Since it makes little difference on what night this wedding 
occurred, and since weddings often occur in the evening, 
the phrase, "one night", expresses no uncommon or im- 
portant circumstance. It may be given a little more im- 
portance than "on", "there", and "was", by slightly 
pausing after it; it should, however, be glided over pretty 
easily. " Rock-bound coast," suggesting, as it does, some- 
thing of the ruggedness of the Puritan country, should be 
emphasized a little more than "one night". The fact 
expressed by "Massachusetts Bay", that the wedding 
occurred in New England, has considerable bearing upon 
what follows; it should perhaps be given about the same 
prominence as " centuries ago." 

In the second sentence " sky " is the first significant word, 
and " roof" the next but less significant word. Weddings 



lxxviii INTRODUCTION 

generally take place in houses or churches; often the room 
is decorated, the walls and ceilings are frescoed; there is 
music by orchestra or organist; but this wedding was 
peculiar; "the sky" was the " roof ", the "stars" were 
the " fresco work ", the " song of the night-bird " and the 
"surge of the ocean" were the "music". These things 
wherein it differed from ordinary weddings should be made 
emphatic. " Covered" and " contracting parties" should 
not be emphasized since roofs always cover, and the mere 
mention of wedding suggests that there are " high contract- 
ing parties." Moreover to emphasize " high " would sug- 
gest that there are " low " parties, and to emphasize " high 
contracting " gives the erroneous impression that there were 
other parties concerned which the sky did not cover. At 
every wedding there are bidden guests and sometimes guests 
unbidden; there are always a bride and a bridegroom. In 
this selection, then," guests "," bride ", and " bridegroom " 
need to be emphasized only enough to help complete the 
comparison between this and all weddings. " Bidden " and 
"unbidden" are emphasized somewhat since they are 
antithetical. The second "guests", since it is a word 
repeated and not repeated for emphasis, should be touched 
lightly. Who the guests were is of importance. " Puritan 
fathers", "Puritan mothers", and "dusky savages" 
should, then, be made emphatic. In the last phrase to 
emphasize "dusky" would give the wrong implication. 
The significant fact is not that the unbidden guests were 
" dusky" but that they were " savages". Who the bride 
and the bridegroom were is all-important. Therefore 
"meeting-house" and "school-house" should be made 
prominent. In the next sentence " marriage " expresses a 
repeated idea. The new and important word is " child". 
The thought expressed in "born" should not be em- 
phasized until the reader pronounces " child ". That they 
christened the child is not strange; what they christened it 
is of moment. " New England Civilization " is the key- 



EMPHASIS lxxix 

phrase of the whole oration. It should be made to stand 
out as prominently as the poor peasant in Millet's " Man 
with the Hoe." 

With the preceding principles in mind give reasons why 
the following italicized words should (or should not) be 
emphasized : 

" If I were to tell you the story of Napoleon, I should take 
it from the lips of Frenchmen, who find no language rich 
enough to paint the great captain of the nineteenth century. 
Were I to tell you the story of Washington, I should take it 
from your hearts, — -you, who think no marble white enough 
on which to carve the name of the Father of his country. 
But I am to tell you the story of a negro, Toussaint L ' Ouver- 
ture, who has left hardly one written line. I am to glean it 
from the reluctant testimony of his enemies, men who 
despised him because he was a negro and a slave, and hated 
him because he had beaten them in battle. 

''''Cromwell manufactured his own army. Napoleo?i, at the 
age of twenty-seven, was placed at the head of the best troops 
Europe ever saw. Cromwell never saw an army till he was 
forty ; this man never a soldier till he was fifty. Cromwell 
manufactured his own army — out of what? Englishmen, — 
the best blood in Europe. Out of the middle class of English- 
men, — the best blood of the island. And with it he conquered 
what ? Englishmen, — their equals. This man manufactured 
his army out of what ? Out of what you call the despicable 
race of negroes, debased, demoralized by two hundred years 
of slavery, one hundred thousand of them imported into the 
island within four years, unable to speak a dialect intelligible 
even to each other. Yet out of this mixed and, as you say, 
despicable mass he forged a thunderbolt, and hurled it at 
what ? At the proudest blood in Europe, the Spaniard, and 
sent him home co?iquered ; at the most warlike blood in 
Europe, the French, and put them under his feet; at the 
pluckiest blood in Europe, the English, and they skulked hovcio. 



lxxx INTRODUCTION 

to Jamaica. Now, if Cromwell was a general, at least this 
man was a soldier. ' ' See page 307. 

" I watch the mowers, as they go 
Through the tall grass, a white-sleeved row. 
With even stroke their scythes they swing, 
In tune their merry whetstones ring. 
Behind, the nimble youngsters run 
And toss the thick swathes in the sun. 
The cattle graze, while, warm and still, 
Slopes the broad pasture, basks the hill, 
And bright, where summer breezes break, 
The green wheat crinkles like a lake. 
The butterfly and humble bee 
Come to the pleasant woods with me; 
Quickly before me runs the quail, 
Her chickens skulk behind the rail ; 
High up the lone wood-pigeon sits, 
And the woodpecker pecks and flits, 
Sweet woodland music sinks and swells, 
The brooklet rings its tinkling bells, 
The swarming insects drone and hum, 
The partridge beats his throbbing drum. 
The squirrel leaps among the boughs, 
And chatters in his leafy house, 
The oriole flashes by; and, look! 
Into the mirror of the brook, 
Where the vain bluebird trims his coat, 
Two tiny feathers fall and float." 

From Trowbridge's "Midsummer." 

" The quality of mercy is not strained. 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest: 
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown: 






GESTURE lxxxi 

His scepter shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty ', 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 
But mercy is above the sceptered sway; 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. 
It is an attribute to God Himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this, 
That, in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea; 
Which, if thou follozv, this strict court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there." 
Shakespere's " The Merchant of Venice." 

GESTURE 

A speaker influences his audience in two ways: by an 
appeal to the ear and by an appeal to the eye. In learning 
to appeal to the eye of their audience, students often ask the 
following questions. 

How shall I get upon the platform P Take your time. A 
speaker often hurries so much that he shows his audience at 
the very start that he cannot control himself. " Don't 
scrape your feet " ; or keep your eyes fixed upon the floor 
as if trying to pick out the place to stand. Walk in a digni- 
fied manner to the middle of the stage. 

What is the proper way to bow? In the first place do not 
draw your feet up together as if about to " present arms ". 
Do not bow with one foot ahead of the other. Do not, if 
you are a young man, draw one foot backward; that method 
is often correct for a young woman on the platform as in the 
ballroom, but for a man it is too artificial. In bowing, 
both the neck and the back should be bent. ' ' Don't bow as 



lxxxii INTRODUCTION 

though your spine was a poker with the hinge near the lower 
terminus." . . . Don't bow as though the hinge was in your 
neck."* The head should be bent forward first, then the 
torso: in recovering your position begin to straighten the 
back first, then the neck. Shall I keep my eyes on the 
audience when bowing? Yes. To be sure, if you bow 
deeply, you will seem to roll your eyes upward; but do not 
bow deeply. Make simply a respectful bow of recognition. 

How ought a speaker or reader to stand? The answer to 
this question must be somewhat like an answer to the ques- 
tion, How shall I trim my boat ? In sailing into the teeth 
of a gale you trim your boat differently from what you do 
when you are sailing over smooth water. 

First position. A good normal, fair-weather attitude is to 
stand erect, the hands hanging loosely at the sides, the 
fingers slightly bent, one foot a little in advance of the other 
and making with it an angle of about sixty degrees, the 
weight of the body being thrown upon the ball of the foot 
behind. In this position the knee of the free leg should not 
be stiffened. 

In trying to get an erect position do not thrust the chin 
out too far; do not throw the shoulders back too much or 
the hips forward. Such an attitude is sure to seem vulgar 
or artificial; and remember, here, as everywhere, the great 
art is to conceal art. Imagine some one is pulling you up 
by the scalplock; you will then get your head and body into 
the right position. 

As far as the position of the hands is concerned, to be 
sure we sometimes see public speakers with their hands 
behind them, with their thumbs in their trousers pockets, or 
with one hand fumbling a watch-chain. That is all very 
well so far as it looks free and easy and not disrespectful; 
but for a young man declaiming, such a position is rather 
dangerous; it makes him seem over-confident. Do not 

* Smith : " Reading and Speaking," p. 105. D. C. Heath & Co., 
Boston. 



GESTURE lxxxiii 

clench the hands tightly. This comes, like the contracting 
of the brow, from a desire to haul one's self together. 
When speaking keep the muscles of the hands, arms, and 
face relaxed. Do not fumble with your ring. Do not keep 
hold of your coat. Do not keep shutting or opening your 
hands or pulling down your cuffs. Such movements distract 
the attention of the audience from what you are saying. 
The attention of an ordinary audience is very easily diverted. 
A man opening a window, or a harmless cat walking up the 
pulpit stairs, or a neck-tie working up over a speaker's collar 
will worst even the most eloquent orators in the contest for 
attention. 

In speaking the following selections one could properly 
stand in the first position. 

' ' There was an air of desolation about the grim old State 
House, as, one by one, the last loitering feet came down the 
damp corridors. The Governor heard the steps and the 
rustle of a woman's skirt. He never felt quite alone in the 
empty State House until those steps had passed by. ' ' 

See page 31. 

' ' Adolfo Rodriguez was the only son of a Cuban farmer. 
When the revolution broke out young Rodriguez joined the 
insurgents, leaving his father and mother and sisters at the 
farm. He was taken by the Spanish, was tried by a military 
court for bearing arms against the government, and sen- 
tenced to be shot by a fusillade some morning before 
sunrise." See page 228. 

These are passages of plain, unemotional prose; but at 
times your speech is impassioned. You wish to defy your 
audience, as Regulus in his speech to the Carthaginians; to 
appeal to them, as Lodge in the last part of ' ' The Traditions 
of Massachusetts " (page n); to describe an exciting race, 
as in " Ben Hur " (page 251), or a perilous battle-charge, 
as in "The Storming of Missionary Ridge" (page 23) or 
the " Victor of Marengo " (page 292). Then the first posi- 
tion is too passive; change to one of the following positions. 



lxxxiv INTRODUCTION 

Second position. Step forward, throwing your weight 
almost entirely upon the foot in advance, having the feet at 
an angle of nearly ninety degrees, the leg behind straight, 
the knee of the leg in front bent. The heel of the free foot 
is often lifted slightly, only the ball touching the floor. 

This position, bringing you nearer to the audience, is well 
adapted to impassioned speaking, to appeal and exciting 
description. In speaking the following selections, one could 
properly stand in the second position. 

" I turn to you, the brothers and the sons of those men; 
to you, heirs of the great Republican heritage of union and 
freedom; to you within the borders of whose commonwealth 
lie guarded Concord, Lexington, and Bunker Hill; to you, 
children of the Pilgrim and the Puritan; to you, citizens of 
the great Republic! To you I come and ask the same 
counsel that I asked from the history of the old State, and 
your answer I know will be the same." See page 14. 

' ' And as the smoke cleared away the gamin was seen in 
front of his line marching right on and still beating the 
furious charge. Over the dead and wounded, over breast- 
works and fallen foe, over cannon belching forth their fire 
of death, he led the way to victory; and the fifteen days in 
Italy were ended. ' ' See page 293. 

Third position. This position is very much like the 
second. The feet are at an angle of ninety degrees, and 
about the same distance apart as in the second ; the weight 
of the body, however, is thrown upon the foot behind, the 
leg in front is straight, and the knee of the leg behind slightly 
bent. 

This position is used in the expression of horror, terror, 
and amazement. In speaking the following selections one 
could properly stand in the third position : 
" But look! look! the monster is stumbling, while trembles 
the fragile bridge-wall — 

They struggle like athletes entwining — then both like a 
thunderbolt fall! 



GESTURE lxxxv 

Down, down through the dark the train plunges, with 
speed unaccustomed and dire; 

It glows with its last dying beauty — it gleams like a hail- 
stone of fire! " See page 174. 

" I see them — their uplifted hands, 
Their pleading eyes — oh, there ! 
See ! see their life-blood flowing down 

Around me everywhere! " See page 8. 

When should gestures be made? Make few gestures, but see 
that they count. A superfluity of gestures is not only in- 
effective, it is disgusting. Especially is this true in descrip- 
tive selections. Continuous sawing of the air with the hand 
has done much to throw public reading into disrepute and 
make us all a little shy of the "elocutionist". Make 
gestures only when you have the impulse to make them. 
Let them originate within; do not put them on from the 
outside. Voltaire, it is said, when "preparing a young 
actress to appear in one of his tragedies, tied her hands to 
her sides with pack-thread in order to check her tendency 
toward exuberant gesticulation. Under this condition of 
compulsory immobility she commenced to rehearse, and for 
some time she bore herself calmly enough; but at last, com- 
pletely carried away by her feelings, she burst her bonds and 
flung up her arms. Alarmed at her supposed neglect of his 
instructions, she began to apologize to the poet; he smilingly 
reassured her, however; the gesture was then admirable, 
because it was irrepressible." * 

Understand just what role you are playing. Often a 
superfluous number as well as a wrong kind of gestures is 
made because the speaker fails to do two things: (1) He 
does not distinguish between the personator and the actor; 
(2) He does not distinguish between the describer and the 

* Hammerton : " The Actor's Art," p. 48. George Redway, London, 
Eng. 



lxxxvi INTRODUCTION 

personator. The actor depends upon his costume, the 
scenery, and the acts of others upon the stage. The per- 
sonator must not do this. If he has a letter to read, as in 
" The Speech of Serjeant Buzfuz ", or a note, as in Carle- 
ton's " First Settler's Story", he shows his weakness if he 
draws from his pocket a sheet of paper. A bouquet of roses 
in the hand of the reciter does not improve the rendering of 
" Zingarella, the Gypsy Flower Girl", and the playing of 
an organ at " Music, awake her; strike! " may greatly injure 
the presentation of the statue scene in " The Winter's 
Tale ". All this is ineffective because it spoils the. illusion; 
it bursts the bubble. It is mixing too much the real and 
the imaginative. As Fulton and Trueblood point out 
clearly, the reciter " must suggest the picture and allow the 
imagination of the audience to paint it ". He should not 
try to act the different parts. " The drawing of a dagger 
may be indicated, but there is no necessity of sheathing it. 
In the personation of Hamlet the reciter can indicate the 
drawing of a sword and the stabbing of Polonius, but he 
must not carry out the action to the extent that would be 
appropriate to the actor." * 

Secondly, you should discriminate between the describer 
and the personator. In writing a story a person often takes 
one of two points of view : either he represents himself as one 
of the characters, as John Ridd in " Lorna Doone ", or he 
takes the omniscient point of view, as Scott in " Ivanhoe " ; 
that is, he stands outside and looks down upon his characters 
and sees each act his part, and seeing the end from the 
beginning, knows all about the acts of each and the motives 
which inspire them. Now if he changes his point of view 
without giving due notice to his reader, and suddenly steps 
upon the stage himself to play a part, the result is confusion. 
The same thing is true in reciting : either you are an actor 
in the scene or you are standing outside and describing the 

* Fulton and Trueblood : "Practical Elocution," p. 341. Gmn & Co. 
Boston. 



GESTURE lxxxvii 

scene to others. You cannot play two parts at the same 
moment. To tell just when and how to change from one 
role to the other without causing confusion is sometimes 
difficult. In an oration this question does not often present 
itself. When you are speaking the Bunker Hill oration you 
are Webster; when you are speaking " The War in America " 
you are Chatham. The only time questions arise is when 
you have a speech within a speech. When Serjeant Buzfuz, 
quoting the words of Mrs. Bardell, say, " Mr. Bardell was 
no deceiver — Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman him- 
self — to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assist- 
ance, for comfort, for consolation ", should one play the 
part of the bombastic Mr. Buzfuz or of Mrs. Bardell ? In 
" The First Settler's Story ", in reading the note which ends, 

" Dear, if a burden I have been to you, 
And haven't helped you as I ought to do, 
Let old-time memories my forgiveness plead ; 
I've tried to do my best, — I have, indeed. 
Darling, piece out with love the strength I lack, 
And have kind words for me when I come back ",* 

should one take the voice and attitude of the First Settler 
or the young wife ? In both cases the answer is, the per- 
sonality of the first must not be lost in the second. You 
are not Mrs. Bardell, but the pompous Buzfuz imitating Mrs. 
Bardell ; you are not the girl-wife, but the old frontiersman 
speaking the words of his young wife which have stung him 
to the quick. 

In description the problem is more difficult and at the 
same time more important. Many of the most irritating 
blunders in the use of gestures arise from taking the part of 
personator and describer at the same time. Is this not the 
trouble in the following cases ? 

1 ' King Robert, who was standing near the throne, 
Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone ! 

* See page 283. 



lxxxviii INTRODUCTION 

But all appareled as in days of old, 

With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold ; 

And when his courtiers came, they found him there, 

Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer." 

"I know of a reader", says Professor Clark, " who knelt 
here. ' ' 

" All into the Valley of Death 
Rode the Six Hundred." 

" A certain reader ", says Professor Clark, " holds his hands 
as if driving a horse. ' ' * 

But should one personate only when one has the quoted 
words of the character to utter ? That depends upon the 
intensity of the emotion aroused by the description. In 
describing a hall, a court -room, or an arena, he surely does 
not personate; he points out size, shape, and arrangement, 
— he makes indicative gestures. But other scenes arouse in 
him more emotion; he pities or hates the characters; he 
desires this one to fail, that one to succeed. So interested 
is he in their acts that, as he looks upon them, he imitates 
their movements; i.e., he makes imitative or sympathetic 
gestures. Sometimes the emotion becomes so strong that 
the reciter no longer stands apart from the scene; he 
becomes an actor in it, although he may not be uttering the 
direct words of the character. Then and only then, on 
those rare occasions when the emotion is very strong, can 
one properly personate in description. 

How should I make gestures? First of all be consistent. In 
descriptive selections there is always a picture which the 
speaker tries to make plain to the audience. To do this he 
needs to see the picture clearly himself, to have a very 
definite mental vision. Pie should then lay out the scene 
to be described carefully and consistently. In speaking, for 

♦Chamberlain & Clark : '• Principles of Vocal Expression," p. 462. 
Scott, Foresman & Co., Chicago. 



GESTURE lxxxix 

example, " The Storming of Missionary Ridge " (page 23), 
which begins: "Imagine a chain of Federal forts built in 
between with walls of living men, the line flung northward 
out of sight and southward beyond Lookout", the reciter 
should by appropriate gestures show on which side are the 
Federal forts, and on which side the mountains; he should 
show where the center of the Federal line is pushed out, and 
where the ridge is up which the Union forces must charge. 
In referring to these from time to time, the reciter must be 
consistent. If he places the rebel line on the left in the 
beginning, it is going to be confusing if he suddenly changes 
its position to the right. 

Secondly, place the imagined scene in sight of all. The 
principal scene should be placed so that the speaker will not 
have to turn away from the audience and yet so that the audi- 
ence may see the principal action. In this connection it 
may be said that seldom can a speaker afford to keep his eyes 
upon the imagined scene. He must never forget that he is 
speaking to an audience. Now and then he can seem to be- 
come so engrossed in an exciting description that he can 
keep his eyes almost entirely upon the picture. But gener- 
ally such a use of the eyes looks affected. In a large ma- 
jority of cases there is no better way of holding an audience 
than by looking at them. 

Time you?- gestures carefully. If gestures come before or 
after they are due, they give the impression of forming a 
separate scheme outside of the selection. To learn to time 
your gestures, practice with a simple sentence like the fol- 
lowing: "See that team passing along the street." You 
will notice here that you first look towards the street, then 
you begin to move your hand in that direction, and then you 
begin to speak the words. The eye anticipates the hand, 
the hand the voice. In emphatic gestures the final stroke 
should come upon the accented syllable of the word you 
wish to emphasize. 

Avoid awkwardness. To keep your gestures from seeming 



xc INTRODUCTION 

stiff and awkward, you need first of all to feel the impulse 
to make them ; apprehend the thought so firmly and feel the 
emotion so keenly that you cannot help making them. See 
that you move your arm freely. Do not throw your elbows 
out too far, neither let them hug the sides. In making 
gestures let the forearm lead. Also remember that curved 
lines are generally more graceful than are straight. Here be 
careful not to overdo; an excess of arching movements seems 
artificial. Do not spoil the grace of the gesture by holding 
the hand stiff and dead; see that it is alive to the finger-tips. 
Generally it is well to open the hand, to straighten the 
fingers, at the same time that you make the stroke of the 
gesture. " Don't ", says Professor Smith, " hold the hands 
as though you had bird-shot in each hollow, and feared that 
it would roll out." * 

Suit the gesture to the thought and emotion. Quick move- 
ments of the arm or hand express thought or emotion which 
is harsh, severe, violent, impetuous, abrupt; slow move- 
ments express thought or emotion which is gentle, grand, 
gloomy, cautious, and deliberate. 

''Aliens! Good God! was Arthur, Duke of Wellington, 
in the House of Lords, — and did he not start up and 
exclaim, 'Hold! I have seen the aliens do their duty!' : 

" Calm and unmoved as the marble walls around him 
stood Regulus, the Roman. He stretched his arm over that 
surging crowd with a gesture as proudly imperious as though 
he stood at the head of his own gleaming cohorts/' 

Upward movements of the arms are appropriately used in 
speaking of that which is above your point of view, or high 
in your estimation; in appealing to your superiors; in ex- 
pressing emotions that are noble or attractive, — righteous- 
ness, patriotism, victory, purity, loyalty, love. 

" 'Strip me', said he, 'of the dejected and suffering 
remnant of my army — take from me all that I have left — 

* Smith : "Reading and Speaking," p. 103. D. C. Heath & Co., 
Boston. 



GESTURE xci 

leave me but a banner, give me but the means to plant it upon 
the mountains of West Augusta, and I will yet draw around 
me the men who shall lift up their bleeding country from the 
dust, and set her free! ' " See page 216. 

" Then dipping her pen in the sunlight, will write in' the 
clear blue, above them all, the name of the soldier, the states- 
man, the martyr, Toussaint L'Ouverture." See page 309. 

"To a place in heaven by the side of Washington and 
Lincoln. ' ' See page 6. 

" They tried to bear him along; it was no use; still he 
shouted that rallying cry, * For France, for France, Vive la 
France, Vive V Empereur! ' " See page in. 

Downward movements of the arms are appropriately used 
in pointing out or emphasizing that which is below your 
point of view, or low in your estimation; that over which 
you have mastery; in expressing emotions that are disagree- 
able or base, — defeat, gloom, corruption, cowardice, hate, 
revenge, treachery, brutishness. 

"Down with these tyrants of England! we never have 
sworn them allegiance! Death to these foreign soldiers, who 
seize on our homes and our harvests ! ' ' See page 64. 

' ' Where all was want and crime and cruelty and fear, we 
see the faces of the free. " See page 327. 

' ' Until a torrent, terrible and strong, it sweeps to the abyss 
where all is ruin." See page 158. 

" But still he lowered not his arm, until, at length, I held 
him, gashed and fainting, in my power" See page 157. 

Movements of the arms on a level with the chest are 

appropriately used in expressing colloquial discourse; in 

speaking of things on your plane; to and of your associates 
and equals. 

" Here by the peaceful river on whose shores they dwelt, 
amid the fields that they sowed and reaped, we come to tell 
their story. ' ' 



xcn INTRODUCTION 

"Behold them here to-day, sharing in these pious and 
peaceful rites." 

' ' It has ravaged how many of our homes / it has wrung how 
many of the hearts before me ! ' ' 

Widening movements of the arms are expressive of frank- 
ness, generality, bounteousness, hospitality, unreserved ness. 
' ' We welcome you, soldiers of Virginia, as others more 
eloquent than I have said, to New England. We welcome 
you to old Massachusetts. We welcome you to Boston and to 
Faneuil Hall. ' ' See page 247. 

" And ye do well to call him chief, who for twelve long 
years has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the 
broad Empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet 
lowered his arm. ' ' See page 299. 

" Orchard's where I'd ruther be — 
Needn't fence it in fer me! 
fes" 1 the whole sky overhead, 
And the whole airth underneath.'" See page 127. 

The correct position of the hand adds much to the ex- 
pressiveness of the arm movements. 

The Hand Index points out, counts, analyzes, warns, 
accuses, threatens. 

" Sign that parchment or be ac- 
cursed forever! " 

"Look! There he stands. " 

" But see! he has stepped on the 
railing." 

The Hand Supine expresses openness, candor, affirmation, 
demand, welcome, appeal. 

"Here, take it — oh! take it from 

me!" See page 216. C^T^^A 

" I turn to you, the brothers and the ^^>, ^"rU 
sons of those men. " See page 14. 

" She took her children from her bosom and offered 
them." See page 215. 




GESTURE 



xcm 



The Hand Prone represses, restricts, forbids, conceals, 
restrains, protects, blesses. 

' ' Howl on, I speak to thirty mil- 
lions here." 

" Ha! bind him on his back! 

" So — let him writhe! How long 
Will he live thus ? " 




The Hand Averse expresses repulsion, 
abhorrence, horror, dismay, scorn. 

" Now, begone! Prepare the Eternal 
City for our games. " See page 158. 

" Avaunt and quit my sight." 

The Hand Clenched expresses force, determination, anger, 
revenge, malediction, defiance. 

" I care not how high his situation, ^T7\_^ 
how low his character, how contemptible y^f* ]J "" 

his speech ; whether a privy counselor or a ^~^^~\jl 
parasite, my answer would be a blow." *m±_ — 

See page 255. 

Gesticulating Exercises 

I. Swing clubs, vault, play tennis, fence; gymnasts as a 
rule make graceful gestures. 

II. Stand erect; extend the arms sideways so that the 
hands are on a level with the shoulders. Withdraw the 
energy from the hands so that they hang apparently lifeless. 
Then shake the arms vigorously. 

III. Raising the arms in front, proceed as in Exercise II. 

IV. Letting the arms hang from the sides as if lifeless, by 
twisting the trunk shake them vigorously. 

V. Speaking the following sentences, make gestures that 
seem to you appropriate. 

(1) " Behold the condemned Claudius and Cynthia, whom 
he lately took for his wife. " See page 268. 

(2) "And now, oh! now look at those bounding, flam- 
ing-eyed tigers. ' ' See page 269. 



xciv INTRODUCTION 

(3) " On, on he went, gone one moment and in sight the 
next, on up to the flaming cannon themselves." 

See page 298. 

(4) " Over the dead and wounded, over breastworks and 
fallen foe, over cannon belching forth their fire of death, he 
led the way to victory. " See page 293. 

(5) "Go to Hayti, and stand on those fifty thousand 
graves of the best soldiers France ever had, and ask them 
what they think of the negro's sword. " See page 308. 

(6) " At the turn of the road a hand waves — she answers 
by holding high in her loving arms the child. He is gone 
and forever. ' ' See page 326. 

(7) " If, then, you ask, why I have come back, to let 
you work your will on this poor body which I esteem but 
as the rags that cover it, — enough reply for you, it is because 
I am a Roman ! As such, here in your very capital I defy 
you ! ' ' 

(8) " Go! bring your threatened tortures! " 

(9) " If you could touch those bronze lips with the fire 
of speech, what do you think they would say ? They never 
said ' yield ' in their life." See page 13. 

(10) "The new South is enamoured of her new work. 
As she stands upright, full statured and equal, among the 
people of the earth, breathing the keen air and looking out 
upon the expanded horizon, she understands that her 
emancipation came because, in the inscrutable wisdom of 
God, her honest purpose was crossed and her brave armies 
were beaten. ' ' See page 3 14. 

(11) "New England Civilization said to Slavery, 'thus 
far and no farther forever, ' and when in its insolence it over- 
stepped the bounds, seized it by the throat and throttled it 
to the death!" Seepages. 



PREPARATION FOR READING AND SPEAKING xcv 



PREPARATION FOR READING AND SPEAKING 

Thorough preparation for reading and speaking means 
primarily care for the body. To stand the stress and strain 
of our complex life, to achieve much of anything in business, 
scholarship, statesmanship, law, or medicine, a man must 
be first of all a healthy animal. He must have steady 
nerves, "lungs like bull's hide", a heart like clockwork, 
and a stomach that will grind its grist even when he is doing 
his hardest task. Especially true is this of the person who 
undertakes such exhaustive work as swaying large audiences, 
— of the lawyer, the preacher, the statesman, the orator. 
Leaders in these professions have as a rule been men of 
powerful physiques, of exuberant vitality, and of phenomenal 
endurance; such were Lincoln, Webster, Gladstone, Beecher, 
and Brooks. The young man, then, who wills to influence 
men and women in public speech, must live much in the 
open air, play baseball and tennis, row and swim, play golf 
and ride a bicycle, and work and sleep in rooms that have a 
good supply of sunshine and oxygen. Seldom in college 
does a man with shaky nerves or poor digestion win a prize 
in declamation or debate; much more often the winner is 
an athlete. In the world at large, other things equal, 
influence and following are won by the speaker physically 
strong. 

Rest. A person when he speaks should be well rested. 
Many a preacher has learned from an experience dearly 
bought that the exhaustive work of sermon-writing on 
Saturday evening is poor preparation for effective speaking 
on Sunday. After a sleep crowded with dreams of appearing 
before an audience sans neck-tie, collar, coat, or manuscript, 
a preacher is in no mental or physical condition to speak 
persuasively. Try to be in earnest as he may, his voice tells 
the tale of depleted nervous force. The preacher should 
have his sermon ready for delivery by Saturday noon. 



xcvi INTRODUCTION 

Saturday afternoon he should " loaf", read Mr. Dooley, go 
sailing or fishing, do something that will recreate his mind 
and rest his nerves. What is true of the preacher is also true 
of the lawyer, lecturer, and public speaker of every sort. 
School boys and girls should not rehearse their declamations 
the day on which they speak; neither should they engage in 
fatiguing work or play. College students who have learned 
their declamations thoroughly sometimes fail at the last 
moment because of being physically tired. A game of base- 
ball or too long a walk has so wearied them that their 
memories play them false. "An English lecturer relates 
that at the beginning of his career he was forced to walk 
from one town to another in filling his engagements. He 
found that if he lectured on the evening following a long 
walk his memory invariably proved treacherous. It was 
only after repeated failures that he came to realize the con- 
nection between weariness and loss of memory." * 

Practice. A sprinter or oarsman v/ould not think of 
entering a race without previous training. Every day he 
practices that he may get the right start and may not lose 
his wind at the critical moment. He can thus make a 
supreme exertion without injury. Public speaking is as 
exacting as a race. To speak effectively two or three hours 
a man must train. The reason, Hullah says, why the voices 
of many clergymen fail is not that they use their voices too 
much; they use them too little, but they do not use them 
regularly. They enter a two-mile race on Sunday without 
having run a lap on the six preceding days. To keep the 
vocal organs at their best and to gain control of the agents 
of expression, one should use the voice in reading, speaking, 
or singing an hour or so every day. 

* Koopman's " Mastery of Books," p. 84. American Book Co., Boston. 
• " Sir Henry Holland has recorded that, after an exhausting exploration 
of a mine in Germany, he found himself no longer able to speak German 
with his guide ; and not until he had taken rest and refreshment did he 
recover his memory of the language." — Ibid. 



PREPARATION FOR READING AND SPEAKING xcvn 

Thorough preparation also means mental and spiritual 
training. The messenger must 'have a message. There 
must be behind the voice an intellect to think and a heart 
to feel. However clear the articulation, graceful and apt 
the gestures, pure and resonant the quality, the expression 
is ineffective unless vitalized by intellect and inspired by 
emotion. " People go to schools of oratory with nothing 
within themselves which is clamorous for expression; not 
even a very ' still small voice ' urging them to express some- 
thing. Many who desire, or think they do, to be readers, 
as there are many who desire, or think they do, to be artists, 
evidently believe that if they be trained in technique they 
can be readers or artists. 

* l But suppose some one is impelled to cultivate vocal power 
because of his desire to express what he has sympathetically 
and lovingly assimilated, of a work of genius : ii he endeavor 
to give an honest expression, so far as in hjm lies, to what 
he feels, and avoid trying to express what he does not feel, 
and if he persevere in his endeavor, with always a coefficient 
ideal back of his reading, he may — in time he certainly will 
— become a better reader than another could if he should 
set out, with malice prepense, to be an elocutionist, and, 
with that malicious purpose, were to employ a mere voice- 
trainer who should teach him to perpetrate all sorts of vocal 
extravagances, to make faces, and to gesticulate when reading 
what does not need any gesture. Such an one, after passing 
out of the hands of his trainer, is most likely to go forth and 
afflict the public with his performances, which will be wholly 
a pitiable exhibition of himself. 

" Some of the best readers I have ever known have been 
of the former class, who honestly voiced what they had 
sympathetically assimilated, and did not strain after effect. 
But it seems when one sets out to read, with no interior 
capital, he or she, especially she, is apt to run into all kinds 
of extravagances which disgust people of culture and taste. 



xcvm INTRODUCTION 

The voice, instead of being the organ of the soul, is the 
betrayer of soullessness. 

" Without the interior life that can respond to the in- 
definite life of a work of genius (indefinite, that is, to the 
intellect), a trained voice can do nothing of itself in the way 
■of real interpretation." * 

How can a person acquire this power to lay hold of the 
thought and respond to the emotion of a literary master- 
piece ? In general, by a thorough mental and spiritual 
training; toughening the mental fiber by wrestling with 
problems in Euclid, strengthening the memory and the 
power of expression by conning the Latin grammar and 
translating Caesar's " Commentaries ", sharpening the powers 
of observation and discrimination by research with the test- 
tube, the scalpel, and the microscope, developing a love for 
the true and an appreciation of the noble and the masterful 
by " brooding for the thousandth time " over Homer, Dante, 
Shakespere, and Milton. 

In particular cases, to get firm hold of the thought, the 
reader should know his lines thoroughly; he should be 
certain of the meaning of the words and the construction of 
the sentences — an absurdly simple suggestion, yet not so 
obvious that it is always observed. Boys and girls some- 
times speak 

" Archons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return ! " 

who haven't guessed the meaning of " tettix "; or 

"Unhand me, gentlemen. 
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him who let's me ! " 

who have given an entirely wrong meaning to "lets". 
They read "I prevented the dawning of the morning", 
entirely ignorant of the fact that "prevented" means not 

* Corson : "The Voice and Spiritual Education," p. 116. The Mac- 
millan Company, New York. 



PREPARATION FOR READING AND SPEAKING xcix 

''hindered" or "obstructed" but " anticipated ". They 
read 

" Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you? " 

without having decided whether ' ' crowned ' ' refers to 
" you " or " me ". 

Secondly, the reader or speaker should understand the 
significance of the allusions. In reading " Pheidippides ", 
he should know who Pan was and why " fennel " is spoken 
of; in speaking " A Tribute to General Sherman", he 
should know why Hotspur is referred to as restless, Fabius 
as patient, Caesar's Tenth Legion as dashing; or in speaking 
" American Battle Flags ", he should understand the signifi- 
cance of Villagos to the Hungarian, Vendee to the French 
soldier, and Culloden to the Scotch Highlander. 

Thirdly, the reader should read around the subject. He 
should know thoroughly the circumstances under which the 
poem was written, the oration delivered. He should be 
well acquainted with the story told or the scene described. 

" Sheridan's Ride ? " said a listener to a public reader in 
England, " Sheridan's ride to where ? " 

' ' Oh, ' ' replied the reader with some confusion, ' ' Sheri- 
dan's ride to — to — to Bunker Hill, I think." 

It surely is not enough for pupils who would declaim 
intelligently to confine their reading to the short selections 
given in the Speakers. The boy who would speak under- 
standing^ the declamation on page 106, for example, must 
do more than memorize this small portion of Webster's 
famous reply to Hayne; he should read carefully the entire 
speech, also Senator Lodge's lucid account of all the cir- 
cumstances under which this speech was delivered.* 

Such careful study of the words, constructions, allusions, 
and circumstances of an oration or poem will enable the 
reader or speaker to distinguish between the principal and 

* See Lodge's " Daniel Webster. " 



c INTRODUCTION 

the subordinate, and thus to make his expression more in- 
telligent. For in no way does a person reveal his ignorance 
or knowledge of a piece of literature more completely than 
by reading it aloud. 

Again, an effective speaker or reader must be in earnest ; 
he must be able to lay hold of the emotion. 

" To this one standard make your just appeal, 
Here lies the golden secret : Learn to feel." 

How is he to learn to feel ? It is not enough for him to 
say, " I will be in earnest ". An attempt to put on emotion 
from the outside is liable to result in bombast and in dis- 
gusting contortions of face and limbs. Genuine emotion 
must come from within. It means real interest in the 
subject discussed, the scene described. This interest may 
be aroused first by a thorough knowledge of the events 
spoken of, the characters depicted. In real life our passing 
pity for the man who asks our aid is changed into per- 
manent, genuine interest and sympathy, by our knowing 
more about him, his struggles, his home life, his desires to 
be and to do something. In the same manner genuine 
interest may be aroused in fictitious and historical characters 
and events. A boy cannot expect to declaim with real 
earnestness " The Last of the Roman Tribunes " * before he 
has read the whole of Lord Lytton's " Rienzi ". Not long 
ago I commended to a student looking for a declamation to 
speak in a prize contest, Curtis's " Eulogy on Sumner ".j" 
At first he thought it a bit tame. But after he had read 
more about Sumner, of his conflicts, his ideals and achieve- 
ments, he began to see how great an oration this really is. 
No longer was it tame; those magnificent periods thrilled 
with life. He understood the significance of such sentences 
as these: " How the stately and gracious and all-accom- 
plished man seemed the very personification of that new 

* See page 342. f See page 136. 



PREPARATION FOR READING AND SPEAKING ci 

union for which he had so manfully striven, and whose 
coming his dying eyes beheld — the union of ever wider 
liberty and juster law, — the America of comprehensive in- 
telligence and moral power! For that he stands; up to that 
his imperishable memory, like the words of his living lips, 
forever lifts us — lifts us to his own great faith in America 
and man." And because he saw their real meaning and 
importance, he spoke them with an unfeigned earnestness. 

Moreover, to lay hold of this emotion it is often well to 
paraphrase. The ordinary paraphrase ranks low as a literary 
product; when repeated aloud it seems flabby, common, or 
artificial ; but it may often be useful. As a matter of fact 
boys and girls read and recite selections, especially lines of 
poetry, with no more idea of the meaning of some of the 
phrases or realization of their significance than had the man 
in one of George Eliot's novels of the meaning of those sen- 
tences which he found so much comfort in repeating: 
" Sihon, King of the Amorites, for His mercy endureth for- 
ever. And Og, King of Bashan, for His mercy endureth 
forever." A full paraphrase quickly stops such parroting. 

Furthermore, the reader in learning to feel true emotion 
should use his imagination. By dwelling upon the thought 
and seeing the picture vividly, or by appealing to his own 
experience, a reader may be able to respond to the emotion 
genuinely and thus overcome an indifference fatal to effective 
expression. It is only by holding the truth before the mind 
and looking at it from all sides that we can feel its true sig- 
nificance and be dominated by its power. 

And after all the heart of the whole matter is this : a man 
cannot express more than he is. A man of small soul 
cannot express great emotion. " Eloquence is a virtue 
almost as much as an art." He then who would express 
exalted emotions should cherish firm convictions and high 
ideals; he should "cultivate above all things love and 
truth " and " avoid like poison the fleeting and the false ". 



RAY'S RIDE 

(Abridged) 

By Charles King, Army Officer, Professor of Military Science and Tac- 
tics, Descriptive Writer, Novelist. Born at Albany, N, Y., 1844. 

Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from " Marion's Faith," copyright, 1886, 
by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. 

Darkness has settled down in the shadowy Wyoming 
Valley. By the light of a tiny fire under the bank some 
twenty forms can be seen stretched upon the sand; they are 
wounded soldiers. A little distance away are nine others, 
shrouded in blankets; they are the dead. Crouching among 
the timber, vigilant but weary, dispersed in a big, irregular 
circle around the beleaguered bivouac, some sixty soldiers 
are still on the active list. All around them, vigilant and 
vengeful, lurk the Cheyennes. Every now and then the bark- 
as of a coyote is heard, — a yelping, querulous cry, — and it 
is answered far across the valley or down the stream. There 
is no moon ; the darkness is intense, though the starlight is 
clear, and the air so still that the galloping hoofs of the 
Cheyenne ponies far out on the prairie sound close at 
hand. 

" That's what makes it hard/' says Ray, who is bending 
over the prostrate form of Captain Wayne. "If it were 
storming or blowing, or something to deaden the hoof -beats, 
I could make it easier; but it's the only chance." 

The only chance of what ? .:.'.. 

When the -sun went down upon Wayne's timber citadel, 
and the final account of stock was taken for the day, -it was 
found that with one fourth of the command, men and horses, 



2 CHARLES KING 

killed and wounded there were left not more than three 
hundred cartridges, all told, to enable some sixty men to 
hold out until relief could come against an enemy encircling 
them on every side, and who had only to send over to the 
neighboring reservation — forty miles away — and get all the 
cartridges they wanted. 

They could cut through, of course, and race up the valley 
to find the — th, but they would have to leave the wounded 
and the dismounted behind — to death by torture; so that 
ended the matter. Only one thing remained. In some 
way, by some means, word must be carried to the regi- 
ment. 

Lieut. Ray had been around the rifle-pits taking observa- 
tions. Presently he returned, leading Dandy, his sagacious 
horse, up near the fire — the one sheltered light that was 
permitted. 

Captain Wayne looked up startled. 

" Ray, I can't let you go! " 

" There's no helping it. Some one must go, and whom 
can you send ? " 

Wayne was silent. Ray had spoken truth. There was 
no one whom he could order to risk death in breaking his 
way out since the scout had said 'twas useless. There were 
brave men there who would gladly try it had they any skill 
in such matters, but that was lacking. " If any man in the 
command could 'make it,' that man was Ray." He was 
cool, daring, keen; he was their best and lightest rider, and 
no one so well knew the country or better knew the 
Cheyennes. 

Ray flung aside his scouting-hat, knotted the silk hand- 
kerchief he took fiom his throat, so as to confine the dark 
hair that came tumbling almost into his eyes, buckled the 
holster-belt tightly round his waist, looked doubtfully an 
instant at his spurs, but decided to keep them on. 

Three minutes more and the watchers at the edge of the 
timber have seen him, leading Dandy by the bridle, slowly, 



RAY'S RIDE 3 

stealthily, creeping out into the darkness; a moment the 
forms of man and horse are outlined against the stars; then 
are swallowed up in the night. Hunter and the sergeants 
with him grasp their carbines and lie prone upon the turf, 
watching, waiting. 

In the bivouac is the stillness of death. Ten soldiers, 
carbine in hand, mounted on their unsaddled steeds, are 
waiting in the darkness at the upper rifle-pits for Hunter's 
signal. If he shout, every man is to yell and break for the 
front. Otherwise, all is to remain quiet. Back at the 
watch-fire under the bank Wayne is squatting, watch in one 
hand, pistol in the other. Near by lie the wounded, still as 
their comrades just beyond — the dead. All around among 
the trees and in the sand-pits up- and down-stream, fourscore 
men are listening to the beating of their own hearts. In 
the distance, too, are the gleams of Indian fires, but they are 
far beyond the positions occupied by the besieging warriors. 
Darkness shrouds them. Far aloft the stars are twinkling- 
through the cool and breezeless air. With wind, or storm, 
or tempest, the gallant fellow whom all hearts are following 
would have something to favor, something to aid; but in 
this almost cruel stillness nothing under God can help him 
— nothing but darkness and his own brave spirit. 

His footfall is soft as a kitten's as he creeps out upon the 
prairie; Dandy stepping after him, wondering but obedient. 
For over a hundred yards he goes, until both up- and down- 
stream he can almost see the faint fires of the Indians in the 
timber. 

The thing is to get as far through them as possible before 
being seen or heard, then mount and away. After another 
two minutes' creeping he peers over the western bank. Now 
the fires up-stream can be seen in the timber, and dim, 
shadowy forms pass and repass. Then close at hand come 
voices and hoof-beats. Dandy pricks up his ears and wants 
to neigh, but Ray grips his nostrils like a vice, and Dandy 
desists. At rapid lope, within twenty yards, a party of half 



4 CHARLES KING 

a dozen warriors go bounding past on their way down the 
valley, and no sooner have they crossed the gully than he 
rises and rapidly pushes on up the dry sandy bed. Thank 
heaven! there are no stones. A minute more and he is 
crawling again, for the hoof-beats no longer drown the faint 
sound of Dandy's movements. A few seconds more and 
right in front of him, not a stone's throw away, he hears the 
deep tones of Indian voices in conversation. Whoever they 
may be they are in the " cooley " and watching the prairie. 
They can see nothing of him, nor he of them. Pass them 
in the ten-foot-wide ravine he cannot. Turning stealthily he 
brings Dandy around, leads back down the ravine some 
thirty yards, then turns to his horse, pats him gently one 
minute, springs lightly, noiselessly, to his back, and at 
cautious walk comes up on the prairie. He bends down on 
Dandy's neck, intent with eye and ear. He feels that he 
has got well out east of the Indian picket unchallenged, 
when suddenly voices and hoofs come bounding up the 
valley from below. He must cross their front, reach the 
ravine before them, and strike the prairie beyond. " Go, 
Dandy! " he mutters with gentle pressure of leg; and the 
sorrel bounds lightly away, circling southwestward under the 
guiding rein. Another minute and he is at the arroya and 
cautiously descending, then scrambling up the west bank; 
and then from the darkness comes a savage challenge, a sputter 
of pony hoofs. Ray bends low and gives Dandy one vigor- 
ous prod with the spur, and with muttered prayer and 
clinched teeth and fists he leaps into the wildest race for his 
life. 

Bang! bang! go two shots close behind him. Crack! goes 
his pistol at a dusky form closing in on his right. Then 
come yells, shots, the uproar of hoofs, the distant cheer and 
charge at camp, a breathless dash for and close along under 
the bluffs where his form is best concealed, a whirl to the 
left into the first ravine that shows itself, and, despite shots 
and shouts and nimble ponies and vengeful foes, the Sandford 



NEW ENGLAND CIVILIZATION 5 

colors are riding far to the front, and all the racers of the 
reservations cannot overhaul them. 



NEW ENGLAND CIVILIZATION 

By William Pierce Frye, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Maine, 
1871-81; Senator, 1881 — . Born in Lewiston, Maine, 1831. 

From an address delivered at a meeting of the New England Society of Philadelphia, 
Dec. 22, 18.81. 

Centuries ago, on the rock-bound coast of Massachusetts 
Bay, one night there was a wedding. The sky was the roof 
that covered the high contracting parties, and the stars, 
painted by the finger of God, were the fresco-work; the 
music was that of the singing night-bird and the surge of the 
gray old ocean; the bidden guests were the Puritan fathers 
and the Puritan mothers; the unbidden guests were the 
dusky savages; the bride and the bridegroom were the meet- 
ing-house and the schoolhouse, and from that marriage 
there was born a child. They christened it New England 
Civilization. New England Civilization, inspired by the 
Bible and the schoolbook, what a power it has been in this 
Republic! New England Civilization, the only power that 
dared cry a halt to advancing barbarism ; that said to slavery, 
" thus far and no farther forever," and when in its insolence 
it overstepped the bounds, seized it by the throat and 
throttled it to the death! New England Civilization, the 
inspiration of every great enterprise, of every marvelous in- 
vention, of every grand forward and upward move of man 
and mind in this country! New England Civilization, that 
planted on every hill a church, and in every valley a school- 
house with its open door! New England Civilization, that 
living spirit which opened up to every boy in the land such 
splendid opportunities, such glittering possibilities; that 
raised a ladder, its base on the earth, its top in heaven, and 
encouraged the barefooted boy of the West to mount, by the 
round of the canal-boat, by the round of the academy, by 



6 WILLIAM PIERCE FRYE 

the round of the college, by the round of the teacher's desk, 
by the round of the war for equal rights, by the round of the 
House of Representatives, by the round of the Senate, by 
the round of the Presidency, by the round of a perfect life, 
a patient sickness and heroic death, to a place in heaven by 
the side of Washington and Lincoln. Religion and educa- 
tion, love of God and regard for man, — this is the secret of 
New England's strength in the nation. 

But, Mr. President, have we finished the fight ? May we 
lay the armor off and hang the sword on its peg ? ' ' Eternal 
vigilance is the price of liberty." For a century we were 
sluggards, seemed to sleep, and barbarism grew stronger and 
stronger until we awoke, then it slunk back. Dead ? No, 
only waiting for its opportunity. There is an old story of a 
giant who had lived for fifty years a cruel, wicked life, then 
repented, and, to do works meet for repentance, built him 
a little hut by the side of a broad, bridgeless river, and 
carried every passing traveler across the stream on his 
shoulders. One dark, tempestuous night a child knocked 
at his door, and asked to be carried over. The giant took 
him on his broad shoulders, nothing but a feather's weight 
to him, marched boldly out into the darkness and the 
stream; but as he marched on the burden grew heavy and 
heavier, until at last it seemed to him that he and his burden 
must sink forever beneath the terrible waves. Of a sudden 
he looked up and found that he was bearing the Christ Child, 
immediately he received Christ's strength, and bore him 
safely to the other shore. From that day he has been known 
as Saint Christopher, the Christ-bearer. Now we took this 
blessed Republic upon our strong shoulders, agreeing to 
carry it in honor and safety, through peace and war, through 
prosperity and adversity, through brightness and darkness, 
through calm and tempest. To us it was a mere feather's 
weight, and we boldly bore it along; but it grew heavy and 
heavier, until right in the darkness and tempest of terrible 
civil war it seemed to us that we and the Republic must sink 



THE DEATH OF CHARLES THE NINTH 7 

forever beneath the waves. Then, and for the first time, in 
the Proclamation of Emancipation by the immortal Lincoln, 
we looked up, found that we were carrying, not slavery, but 
justice, freedom, equal rights, all of them children of Christ; 
and immediately we received his strength, and have been 
nobly bearing our burden on towards safety. The haven 
has not yet been reached. By demands of business, by for- 
getfulness of history, by appeals for conciliation, by necessi- 
ties of party, by weariness of strife, by longings for rest, by 
every temptation, we are enticed once more to look down. 

Sons of New England, look not down; it is full of deadly 
peril. Stand on the watchtowers of civilization, and cease- 
lessly cry out to the people, " Oh, look not down! " Sons 
of New England, in pulpit, at teacher's desk, in professor's 
chair, in the Halls of Congress, on the bench, in the count- 
ing-room, in the shop, by the loom, on the farm, wherever 
you may be, at home or abroad, in the name of your fathers' 
God, for the sake of the precious Republic, cry out to the 
people, " Look up, look up! " and looking up, they will ever 
see that they are bearing a Republic, founded in justice, 
liberty, and equal rights. Seeing and remembering, they 
will have God's help, and our country shall be saved. 

THE DEATH OF CHARLES THE NINTH 

By Maude Moore, Poet, Story-writer. Born in Warren, Maine, 1849. 

From " Songs of Sunshine and Shadow," published by The Lothrop Publishing 
Company, Boston. 

It was a festal day in Paris. Since early morning had the streets 
been filled with hurrying multitudes; but as the sun went down, and all 
the thousand lamps of the great city were lighted, the festivities were laid 
aside, for a messenger had come from the Palace bringing word that the 
young king was dying. Slowly the gathered throng dispersed, till, 
instead of the vast multitudes that so lately thronged the streets, the 
city was silent and deserted. 

Within an upper chamber lay the king, 

His white face, 'gainst the pillow scarce as white, 



MAUDE MOORE 

Gleamed ghastly— lip and hand and brow- 
Were chilling with the icy touch of him 
Who comes but once : — who comes alike to all. 
About the room the waxen tapers tall 
Lit up the shadows, while the black-robed priests 
Stood round the couch with " Host and Crucifix," 
The ceremonial of the sacrament. 
But the king sees them not; his soul is back 
With the past years — he whispers! Ha! he dreams! 
He sees the streets of Paris all aglow 
With gleaming fire of the torch and lamp ; 
He stands beside his window — from below 
Thro' all the streets he hears the ceaseless tramp 
Gf armed men — the crash of arms — the cry 
Of gathering forces; on the midnight air 
He hears the wild, wild accents of despair 
In groans and curses, as the throng go by; 
And 'bove them all, o'er every sight and sound 
He hears the bell of St. Germain slow toll 
The signal for the massacre; — the ground 
Beneath his feet is red with blood: the roll 
Of musketry is drowned in dying groans! 

Within the chamber still the dark-robed priests 

Move noiselessly; from out his fever dream 

The king awakes, his sunken, gleaming eyes 

Fast dark'ning with the gathering gloom of death; 

In vain the trembling priests essay to calm 

His troubled soul — " I murdered them! " he shrieks; 

" I saw them butchered; now their vengeful souls 

Are come to mock me! Hear the tower bell! 

' No bell ' ? ye mock me ! Hear it peal ! 

Aye, hear it! Marking slow 

The shrieking of the murdered ones 

In all the streets below! 

I see them — their uplifted hands, 



THE DEATH OF CHARLES THE NINTH 

Their pleading eyes — oh, there! 

See! see their life-blood flowing down 

Around me everywhere ! ' ' 

" Nay, nay, my son! this crucifix 

Put to thy lips in prayer! " 

" What! pray ? I pray ? I press my lips 

Upon that holy thing ? 

I pray ? 'twere blasphemy! no prayer 

Peace to this heart can bring! 

The bell ! the bell again ! shut out, 

Shut out its ringing knell ! 

' A fever dream ' ? Great God, my soul 

Doth know the sound full well ! 

Have I not heard it pealing slow 

Above me night and day! 

Has it not hung about my neck 

Whene'er I've tried to pray! 

Have I not heard it ? hear the peal ! 

Louder and louder yet ! 

I shall go mad ! Shut out the sound ! 

O God, could I forget! 

And hark! it brings another sound, — 

Hush ! sure, you heard it then, 

The shrieking of the helpless throng, 

The groans of dying men — 

The curses! hear them! " 

From his couch 
They raised the dying king, 
And sought with soothing, prayerful words 
A calmer frame to bring. 
" My son " — the aged father spoke— 
" But idle dreams are these: 
You hear no bell— there is no sound 
But wind among the trees. 
See, here I hold the crucifix : 



io MAUDE MOORE 

Now lay aside thy care, 
And gaze thou on the holy cross, 
The while I kneel in prayer." 

The king sank back with ashen lips, 

The holy father bent, 

And to the heavenly throne above 

His supplication sent: 

' ' Have mercy, Lord ! ' ' the white-haired priest 

In reverent accents prayed; 

" Have mercy on the sons of men, 

For thou thyself hast said — " 

Quick started from his royal couch 

The dying king. " Be still! " 

He shouted to the kneeling priest, 

' ' Stay, hold thy peace ! Be still ! 

Did He not say ' Be merciful ' ? 

"Did I show mercy when 
By mine own word the very streets 
Flowed down with lives of men ? 
Did I show mercy when that wail 
Of anguish rent the air ? 
Did I show mercy e'en to one 
In all that black despair ? 
I saw them murdered — did I raise 
My hand to stay the fire ? 
Did I show mercy when they prayed, 
To babe, or gray-haired sire ? 

Mercy ? ye mock me!" 

From his hand 
The holy symbol fell, 
And from his white lips fell the cry: 
' The bell, the tower bell ! 
Shut out the sound! " 



THE TRADITIONS OF MASSACHUSETTS 

His voice grew faint, 
His eye with death grew dim; 
Slowly the icy shadows crept 
O'er hand, and brow, and limb; 
The holy fathers gathered round 
In silence where he lay; 
About the room the tapers tall 
Grew dim with dawning day; 
And ere the sun had lit the east, 
A soul had passed away. 



THE TRADITIONS OF MASSACHUSETTS 

By Henry Cabot Lodge, Lawyer, Editor, Author; Member of Con- 
gress from Massachusetts, 1886-93; Senator, 1893 — . Born in 
Boston, Mass., 1850. 

From a speech before the Republican State Convention of Massachusetts, March 
27, 1896. See daily papers of Boston, March 28, 1896. 

Look at these two questions for a moment, the Venezuelan 
and the Cuban, one involving aggressions on our rights — on 
rights which we believe with great unanimity concern deeply 
the peace and safety of the United States — while the other 
involves a case of humanity, as I consider it. I have formed 
the opinions which I have expressed on these questions by 
a very careful study of all the facts and circumstances for 
considerably more than a year. 

But I did not rest there; I have looked also to see what 
the traditions and the history of Massachusetts had to say to 
me where questions involving the rights of my country, and 
others as I believed involving the interests of humanity right 
here at our threshold, were at stake. 

The first public man I ever saw, when I was a mere child 
in my father's house, was Charles Sumner. The first voice 
I ever heard speak on public affairs was his, and he was 
pleading the rights of humanity. Even a child could under- 
stand that, He bore stripes for what he believed, and you 



12 HENRY CABOT LODGE 

could not turn him from his great struggle for the black 
man by telling him that the negro could not make as good 
a government as the Anglo-Saxon. 

Go back a little farther. There is Daniel Webster, Secre- 
tary of State, declaring to the Austrian representative that 
every people struggling for freedom had the sympathy of the 
people of the United States! They sent for Kossuth and 
brought him out here in a man-of-war. We are told to-day 
that we are too rough in our utterances about Spain. But 
it was Daniel Webster who said in his letter to Hiilsemann : 
"The great Republic controls an area beside which the 
possessions of the House of Hapsburg are but a patch on the 
earth's surface." It was the same Daniel Webster who 
stood in the Congress thirty years before and pleaded the 
cause of the Greeks battling for their liberties, while he 
denounced Turkey in those roiling sentences of which he 
alone was master. 

Go back a little farther. A British ship had taken some 
of our seamen out of an American ship, and the President 
had asked for measures to resist the outrage. John Quincy 
Adams was one of the Senators from Massachusetts. The 
President was not of his party; I am sure that the President's 
policy was not of his choosing. He did not like it, but he 
stood up in his place in the Senate and said that, in the 
presence of a controversy with a foreign government, when 
" The President has recommended this measure on his high 
responsibility, I would not deliberate — I would act! " 

That was the voice of Massachusetts then. Those are the 
lessons I read in the lives of three of my great predecessors. 
Let us go a little farther and see what more we can learn 
in Massachusetts history about the duties of her sons when 
the rights of the country and the rights of humanity are at 
stake. Go out with me into the streets of Boston; go down 
to Faneuil Hall — it is a historic spot. Stop there in front 
of the picture which hangs on those walls of the second 
Massachusetts President. To those silent lips put the ques- 



THE TRADITIONS OF MASSACHUSETTS 13 

tion: "Do you think we should sustain the Monroe 
doctrine?" Ask it of John Quincy Adams, What do 
you think would be his reply ? He formulated it. 

Go out again; walk up jnto Dock Square. What is the 
statue you see there ? It is that of Sam Adams. Close by 
is the place where the first blood flowed in the Revolution. 
Hard by is the chamber where, in the gathering twilight, he 
faced the crown officers and said to them: "You must 
remove both regiments. If you can remove one you can 
remove both — both regiments or none." He looks forth 
over the harbor where the tea fell. Stop in front of that 
statue and put to it the question: " When the rights of your 
country are at stake, shall you resist or shall you yield ? " 
If you could touch those bronze lips with the fire of speech 
what do you think they would say ? They never said 
' ' Yield ' ' in their life ! 

We are all agreed about Sam Adams to-day. Do you 
think he didn't have his critics ? Eleven hundred of them 
sailed out to Halifax with Lord Howe. As they sailed out 
of the harbor George Washington rode in at the other end 
of the town, and we have put up a statue to him also. It 
is down there in the Public Garden — the statue of the man 
who broke the empire of England and laid the foundations 
of a mightier empire here. 

Close by is the statue of Charles Sumner, and the battle 
of his life was for human rights. A little farther away is the 
statue of William Lloyd Garrison. He was mobbed in the 
streets of Boston ! Mobbed, and for what ? For pleading 
the rights of humanity, even if the skin that covered the 
humanity was black. There sits his statue in Commonwealth 
Avenue. I do not see the effigies of the men who mobbed 
him. 

Go up the hill; take one more look. There is an un- 
finished monument in front of the State House, opposite the 
steps where John A. Andrew sent the soldiers off to the war. 
There is an unfinished monument! Turn now to your 



14 HENRY CABOT LODGE 

Harvard biographies, read there the letters of the first 
Colonel of the first Massachusetts black regiment, and they 
will tell you of the prejudice, of the obloquy, of all he had 
to encounter while he was raising that regiment. It was not 
because he was fighting for the Union; it was because, in 
addition to fighting for the Union, he was trying to help a 
race to freedom by proving to all mankind that they deserved 
their freedom because they could fight for it. That is what 
he was meeting obloquy, reproach, and prejudice for, and 
he went off with his black troops, and he fell there at Fort 
Wagner; and slavery, in its ferociousness, even on its death- 
bed, cried out: " Bury him with his niggers" — one of the 
noblest epitaphs ever uttered over man. And now Boston 
is raising a statue to his memory, and there, carved by the 
chisel of the greatest of living sculptors, Robert Shaw and 
his black soldiers will ride together, forever ride! 

Those are the memories, those are the traditions, such is 
the inspiration, and such the lesson that I find in Massa- 
chusetts history. 

I leave the history; I will come to to-day. I will come 
to you, voices of the present. I will come to you — to you 
who followed the gleaming flag of the Republic through four 
years of civil war and brought back the white flag of Massa- 
chusetts, all the whiter because it was torn with shot and 
black with smoke. 

I turn to you, the brothers and the sons of those men; to 
you, heirs of the great Republican heritage of union and 
freedom ; to you, within the borders of whose Commonwealth 
lie guarded Concord, Lexington, and Bunker Hill; to you, 
children of the Pilgrim and the Puritan; to you, citizens of 
the great Republic! To you I come and ask the same 
counsel that I asked from the history of the old State, and 
your answer, I know, will be the same. 



GREAT BRITAIN AND AMERICA 15 



GREAT BRITAIN AND AMERICA 

By Edwin Oliver Wolcott, Lawyer; Senator from Colorado, 1889 — . 
Born in Longmeadow, Mass., 1848. 

From a speech delivered in the Senate, January 22, 1896; the Senate having under 
consideration a resolution relative to the enforcement of the Monroe Doctrine. See 
Congressional Record, Jan. 22, 1896. 

Mr. President, if the Senate is not responsible for the 
original differences which have arisen between Great Britain 
and this country relative to the Venezuelan boundary, it 
must be admitted that we have done much toward keeping 
the question active and the differences acute. For instance, 
the other day, after all the Venezuelan dispatches had been 
published to the world, a resolution was introduced having 
reference to the abortive revolution in the Transvaal. 

I know but little of the Transvaal Republic, but I am 
advised that a large percentage of its white citizens are 
English-speaking people, and are denied representation, 
while paying their full quota of taxation; and that situation 
is one which ordinarily demands and receives American 
sympathy for people so deprived of what we cherish as an 
unalienable right. But whatever the cause of the uprising, 
or the merits of the dispute, Mr. President, my attention at 
that crisis was diverted to another channel. France is a 
sister republic, and although most of her colonies, com- 
mended in the resolution of the Senator from Alabama, have 
fewer rights than. Cuba, she is yet entitled to our considera- 
tion and sympathy because of her form of government. 
Germany has furnished us hundreds of thousands of worthy 
citizens, who are a credit to the Republic. Russia was our 
friendly ally in the late war. And yet, Mr. President, when 
I read that all these powerful governments — France, 
Germany, and Russia — had allied themselves together 
against Great Britain, and that the people of those little 
islands, "compassed by the inviolate sea/' in defense of 
what they deemed their rights, were marshaling their armies 



1 6 EDIVIN OLIVER WOLCOTT 

and assembling their navies, ready, undaunted, to face a 
world in arms, unyielding and unafraid, I thanked God I 
was of the race! There is no drop of blood in me, Mr. 
President, that is not of English origin, and I have no 
ancestor on either side since 1650 who was not born on the 
soil of New England ; but my heart beats faster when I recall 
the glorious deeds of Clive, and Lawrence, and Napier, and 
Wellington — of Drake and Hawkins who fought the Spaniard 
and swept the Spanish Main, and of the incomparable 
Nelson; and my pulse quickens when I realize that the 
splendor of their achievements is part of our glorious heri- 
tage, and that the language of Burke and of Chatham is our 
mother tongue ! 

Mr. President, we will protect our country and our 
country's interests with our lives, but we wage no wars of 
conquest or of hate. This Republic stands facing the dawn, 
secure in its liberties, conscious of its high destiny. Wher- 
ever in all the world the hand of the oppressed or the down- 
trodden is reached out to us, we meet it in friendly clasp. 
In the Old World, where unspeakable crimes even now 
darken the skies; in the Orient, where old dynasties have 
been crumbling for a thousand years and still hang together 
strong in accumulation of infamies; in South America, 
where as yet the forms of free institutions hold only the 
spirit of cruelty and oppression; everywhere upon the earth 
it is our mission to ameliorate, to civilize, to Christianize, 
to loosen the bonds of captivity, and to point the souls of 
men to nobler heights. 

Whatever of advancement and of progress the centuries 
shall bring us, must largely come through the spread of the 
religion of Christ and the dominance of the English-speaking 
peoples; and wherever you find both, you find communities 
where freedom exists and law is obeyed. Blood is thicker 
than water, and until some just quarrel divides us — which 
Heaven forbid! — may these two great nations of the same 
speech and lineage and traditions stand as brothers shoulder 



MR. TRAVERSES FIRST HUNT 17 

to shoulder, in the interest of humanity, by their union 
compelling peace and awaiting the coming of the day when 
" Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall 
they learn war any more." 



MR. TRAVERS'S FIRST HUNT 

By Richard Harding Davis, Journalist, Author. Born in Philadel- 
phia, Penn., 1864. 

Taken, by permission of the publishers, from "Van Bibber and Others," by Richard 
Harding Davis. Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers, New York. 

Young Travers, who had been engaged to a girl down on 
Long Island for the last six months, only met her father and 
brother a few weeks before the day set for the wedding. . . . 

Old Mr. Paddock, the father of the girl to whom Travers 
was engaged, had often said that when a young man asked 
him for his daughter's hand he should ask him in return, 
not if he had lived straight, but if he could ride straight. 
And on his answering this question in the affirmative 
depended his gaining her parent's consent. 

Travers had met Miss Paddock and her mother in Europe 
while the men of the family were at home. He was invited 
to their place in the fall when the hunting season opened, 
and spent the evening very pleasantly and satisfactorily with 
his fiancee in a corner of the drawing-room. 

But as soon as the women had gone, young Paddock 
joined him and said: "You ride, of course?" Travers 
had never ridden; but he had been prompted how to answer 
by Miss Paddock, and so he said there was nothing he liked 
better. As he expressed it, he would rather ride than sleep. 
; ' That's good," said Paddock. " I'll give you a mount 
on Satan to-morrow morning at the meet. He's a bit nasty 
at the start of the season; and ever since he killed Wallis, 
the second groom, last year, none of us care much to ride 
him. But you can manage him, no doubt. He'll just 
carry your weight. ' ' 



1 8 RICHARD HARDING DAVIS 

Mr. Travers dreamed that night of taking large, desperate 
leaps into space on a wild horse that snorted forth flames, 
and that rose at solid stone walls as though they were hay- 
ricks. 

He was tempted to say he was ill in the morning, but 
reflecting that he should have to do it sooner or later, and 
that if he did break his neck it would be in a good cause, he 
thought he had better do his best. 

He came down looking very miserable indeed. Satan 
had been taken to the place where they were to meet, and 
Travers on his arrival there had a sense of sickening fear 
when he saw him dragging three grooms off their feet. 

Travers decided that he would stay with his feet on solid 
ground just as long as he could, and when the hounds were 
thrown off and the rest started at a gallop he waited, under 
the pretense of adjusting his gaiters, until they were all well 
away. Then he clenched his teeth, crammed his hat down 
over his ears, and scrambled up on to the saddle. His feet 
fell by accident into the stirrups, and the next instant he 
was off after the others, with an indistinct feeling that he 
was on a locomotive that was jumping the ties. Satan was 
in among and had passed the other horses in less than five 
minutes, and was so close on the hounds that the whippers-in 
gave a cry of warning. But Travers could as soon have 
pulled a boat back from going over the Niagara Falls as 
Satan, and it was only because the hounds were well ahead 
that saved them from having Satan ride them down. 

Travers had taken hold of the saddle with his left hand to 
keep himself down, and sawed and swayed on the reins with 
his right. He shut his eyes whenever Satan jumped, and 
never knew how he happened to stick on ; but he did stick 
on, and was so far ahead that no one could see in the misty 
morning just how badly he rode. As it was, for daring and 
speed he led the field, and not even young Paddock was 
near him from the start. 

There was a broad stream in front of him and a hill just 



MR. T RAVERS' S FIRST HUNT 19 

on the other side. No one had ever tried to take this at a 
jump. It was considered more of a swim than anything 
else, and the hunters always crossed it by a bridge towards 
the left. Travers saw the bridge and tried to jerk Satan's 
head in that direction; but Satan kept right on as straight 
as an express train over the prairie. Fences and trees and 
furrows passed by and under Travers like a panorama run 
by electricity, and he only breathed by accident. They 
went on at the stream and the hill beyond as though they 
were riding at a stretch of turf, and, though the whole field 
sent up a shout of warning and dismay, Travers could only 
gasp and shut his eyes. He remembered the fate of the 
second groom and shivered. Then the horse rose like a 
rocket, lifting Travers so high in the air that he thought 
Satan would never come down again ; but he did come down, 
with his feet bunched, on the opposite side of the stream. 
The next instant he was up and over the hill, and had 
stopped panting in the very centre of the pack that were 
snarling and snapping around the fox. 

And then Travers showed that he was a thoroughbred, 
even though he could not ride, for he hastily fumbled for his 
cigar-case, and when the rest of the field came pounding up 
over the bridge and around the hill, they saw him seated 
nonchalantly on his saddle, puffing critically at a cigar and 
giving Satan patronizing pats on the head. 

"My dear girl," said old Mr. Paddock to his daughter 
as they rode back, "if you love that young man of yours 
and want to keep him, make him promise to give up riding. 
A more reckless and brilliant horseman I have never seen. 
He took that double leap at the gate and that stream like a 
centaur. But he will break his neck sooner or later, and he 
ought to be stopped." 

Young Paddock was so delighted with his prospective 
brother-in-law's great riding that that night in the smoking- 
room he made him a present of Satan before all the men. 

" No," said Travers gloomily, " I can't take him. Your 



20 WILLIAM McKINLEY 

sister has asked me to give up what is dearer to me than 
anything next to herself, and that is my riding. You see, 
she's absurdly anxious for my safety, and I have given my 
word." 

A chorus of sympathetic remonstrances rose from the 
men. 

"Yes, I know," said Travers, "it is rough, but it 
just shows what sacrifices a man will make for the woman 
he loves." 

OUR DUTY TO THE PHILIPPINES 

By William McKinley, Lawyer, Statesman; Member of Congress from 
Ohio, 1876-90; Governor of Ohio, 1891-95 ; President of the United 
States, 1897 — . Born in Niles, Ohio, 1843. 

From an address delivered at a dinner of the Home Market Club in Boston, Mass., 
February 16, 1899. See Boston daily papers, Feb. 17, 1899; also Congressional 
Record, Feb. 24, 1899. 

I do not know why in the year 1899 this Republic has 
unexpectedly had placed before it mighty problems which it 
must face and meet. They have come and are here, and 
they could not be kept away. . . . [We have fought a war 
with Spain.] 

The Philippines, like Cuba and Porto Rico, were intrusted 
to our hands by the war, and to that great trust, under the 
providence of God and in the name of human progress and 
civilization, we are committed. It is a trust we have not 
sought; it is a trust from which we will not flinch. The 
American people will hold up the hands of their servants at 
home to whom they commit its execution, while Dewey and 
Otis and the brave men whom they command will have the 
support of the country in upholding our flag where it now 
floats, the symbol and assurance of liberty and justice. . . . 

There is universal agreement that the Philippines shall not 
be turned back to Spain. No true American consents to 
that. Even if unwilling to accept them ourselves, it would 
have been a weak evasion of manly duty to require Spain to 



OUR DUTY TO THE PHILIPPINES 21 

transfer them to some other power or powers, and thus shirk 
our own responsibility. Even if we had had, as we did not 
have, the power to compel such a transfer, it could not have 
been made without the most serious international complica- 
tions. Such a course could not be thought of. And yet 
had we refused to accept the cession of them, we should have 
had no power over them even for their own good. 

We could not discharge the responsibilities upon us until 
these islands became ours, either by conquest or treaty. 
There was but one alternative, and that was either Spain or 
the United States in the Philippines. The other suggestions 
— first, that they should be tossed into the arena of conten- 
tion for the strife of nations; or, second, be left to the 
anarchy and chaos of no protectorate at all — were too 
shameful to be considered. 

The treaty gave them to the United States. Could we 
have required less and done our duty ? Could we, after 
freeing the Filipinos from the domination of Spain, have left 
them without government and without power to protect 
life or property or to perform the international obligations 
essential to an independent state ? Could we have left them 
in a state of anarchy and justified ourselves in our own con- 
sciences or before the tribunal of mankind ? Could we have 
done that in the sight of God or man ? 

The future of the Philippine Islands is now in the hands 
of the American people. Until the treaty was ratified or 
rejected the executive department of this government could 
only preserve the peace and protect life and property. That 
treaty now commits the free and enfranchised Filipinos to 
the guiding hand and the liberalizing influences, the generous 
sympathies, the uplifting education, not of their American 
masters, but of their American emancipators. . . . 

Until Congress shall direct otherwise, it will be the duty 
of the executive to possess and hold the Philippines, giving 
to the people thereof peace and order and beneficent govern- 
ment, affording them every opportunity to prosecute their 



2 2 WILLIAM McKINLEY 

lawful pursuits, encouraging them in thrift and industry, 
making them feel and know that we are their friends, not 
their enemies, that their good is our aim, that their welfare 
is our welfare, but that neither their aspirations nor ours can 
be realized until our authority is acknowledged and unques- 
tioned. 

That the inhabitants of the Philippines will be benefited 
by this Republic is my unshaken belief. That they will 
have a kindlier government under our guidance, and that 
they will be aided in every possible way to be a self-respect- 
ing and self-governing people is as true as that the American 
people love liberty and have an abiding faith in their own 
government and in their own institutions. 

No imperial designs lurk in the American mind. They 
are alien to American sentiment, thought, and purpose. 
Our priceless principles undergo no change under a tropical 
sun. They go with the flag. They are wrought in every 
one of its sacred folds, and are indistinguishable as its 
shining stars. 

"Why read ye not the changeless truth, 
The free can conquer but to save ? " 

If we can benefit these remote peoples, who will object ? 
If in the years of the future they are established in govern- 
ment under law and liberty, who will regret our perils and 
sacrifices ? Who will not rejoice in our heroism and 
humanity ? Always perils, and always after them safety; 
always darkness and clouds, but always shining through them 
the light and the sunshine; always cost and sacrifice, but 
always after them the fruition of liberty, education, and 
civilization. 

I have no light or knowledge not common to my country- 
men. I do not prophesy. The present is all-absorbing to 
me, but I cannot bound my vision by the blood-stained 
trenches around Manila, where every red drop, whether from 
the veins of an American soldier or a misguided Filipino, is 



THE STORMING OF MISSION RIDGE 23 

anguish to my heart ; but by the broad range of future years, 
when that group of islands, under the impulse of the year 
just past, shall have become the gems and glories of those 
tropical seas; a land of plenty and of increasing possibilities; 
a people redeemed from savage indolence and habits, devoted 
to the arts of peace, in touch with the commerce and trade 
of all nations, enjoying the blessings of freedom, of civil and 
religious liberty, of education and of homes, and whose 
children and children's children shall for ages hence bless 
the American Republic because it emancipated and redeemed 
their fatherland and set them in the pathway of the world's 
best civilization. 



THE STORMING OF MISSION RIDGE 

By Benjamin Franklin Taylor, Journalist, Author, Poet. Born at 
Lowville, N. Y., 1819; die(i at Cleveland, Ohio, 1887. 

Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from " Mission Ridge and Lookout 
Mountain," copyright, 1871, by D. Appleton & Co., New York. 

Imagine a chain of Federal forts, built in between with 
walls of living men, the line flung northward out of sight 
and southward beyond Lookout. Imagine a chain of 
mountains crowned with batteries and manned with hostile 
troops through a six-mile sweep, set over against us in plain 
sight, and you have the two fronts, — the blue, the gray. 
Imagine the center of our line pushed out a mile and a half 
towards Mission Ridge, and you have the situation as it was 
on the morning before Thanksgiving. And what a work 
was to be done! One and a half miles to trave r se, with 
narrow fringes of woods, rough valleys, sweeps of open 
fields, rocky acclivities, to the base of the Ridge, and no 
foot in all the breadth withdrawn from rebel sight. The 
base attained, what then ? A hill struggling up out of the 
valley four hundred feet, rained on by bullets, swept by shot 
and shell ; another line of works, and then, up like a Gothic 
roof, rough with rocks, a-wreck with fallen trees, four 



24 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN TAYLOR 

hundred more; another ring of fire and iron, and then the 
crest, and then the enemy. 

To dream of such a journey would be madness; to devise 
it, a thing incredible; to do it, a deed impossible. But 
Grant was guilty of them all, and was equal to the work. 

The bugle swung idly at the bugler's side. The warbling 
fife and rumbling drum were unheard. There was to be 
louder talk. Six guns at intervals of two seconds, the signal 
to advance. Strong and steady a voice rang out : ' ' Number 
one, fire! Number two, fire! Number three, fire! " It 
seemed to me the tolling of the clock of destiny. And when 
at ' ' Number six, fire ! ' ' the roar throbbed out with a flash, 
you should have seen the dead-line that had been lying 
behind the works all day, all night, all day again, come to 
resurrection in the twinkling of an eye, leap like a blade 
from its scabbard, and sweep with a two-mile stroke toward 
the Ridge. From divisions to brigades, from brigades to 
regiments, the order ran. A minute, and the skirmishers 
deploy. A minute, and the first great drops begin to patter 
along the line. A minute, and the musketry is in full play, 
like the crackling whips of a hemlock fire. Men go down 
here and there before your eyes. 

But I may tell you they did not storm that mountain as 
you would think. They dash out a little way, and then 
slacken ; they creep up, hand over hand, loading and firing, 
and wavering and halting, from the first line of works toward 
the second ; they burst into a charge with a cheer and go 
over it. Sheets of flame baptize them; plunging shot tear 
away comrades on left and right. It is no longer shoulder 
to shoulder; it is God for us all. Ten — fifteen — twenty 
minutes go by like a reluctant century. The batteries roll 
like a drum. The hill sways up like a wall before them at 
an angle of forty-five degrees; but our brave mountaineers 
are clambering steadily on — up — upward still! And what 
do these men follow ? Your heart gives a great bound when 
you think what it is, — the regimental flag, — and, glancing 



THE STORMING OF MISSION RIDGE 25 

along the front, count fifteen of those colors that were borne 
at Pea Ridge, waved, at Shiloh, glorified at Stone River, 
riddled at Chickamauga. Three times the flag of the 27th 
Illinois goes down. And you know why. Three dead 
color sergeants lie just there; but the flag is immortal — 
thank God ! — and up it comes again, and the men in a row 
of inverted V's move on. 

I give a look at the sun behind me; it is not more than a 
hand-breadth from the edge of the mountain. Oh, for the 
voice that could bid that sun stand still! I turn to the 
battle again. Those three flags have taken flight. They 
are upward bound! The race of the flags is growing every 
moment more terrible. The iron sledge beats on. Hearts, 
loyal and brave, are on the anvil all the way from base to 
summit of Mission Ridge, but those dreadful hammers never 
intermit. Things are growing desperate up aloft; the enemy 
tumble rocks upon the rising line; they light the fuses and 
roll shells down the steep; they load the guns with handfuls 
of cartridges in their haste; and, as if there were powder in 
the word, they shout ' ' Chickamauga ! ' ' down upon the 
mountaineers. 

But all would not do, and just as the sun, weary of the 
scene, was sinking out of sight, with magnificent bursts all 
along the line, exactly as you have seen the crested seas leap 
up at the breakwater, the advance surged over the crest, and 
in a minute those flags fluttered along the fringe where fifty 
guns were kenneled. The scene on that narrow plateau can 
never be painted. As the bluecoats surged over its edge, 
cheer on cheer rang like bells through the valley of the 
Chickamauga. Men flung themselves exhausted upon the 
ground. They laughed and wept, shook hands, embraced, 
turned round, and did all four over again. It was wild 
as a carnival. The general was received with a shout. 
"Soldiers," he said, "you ought to be court-martialed, 
every man of you. I ordered you to take the rifle-pits, and 
you scaled the mountain ! ' ' 



26 NEIVELL DIVIGHT H1LLIS 



THE BIBLE 

By Newell Dwight Hillis, Preacher, Author; Pastor of Central 
Church, Chicago, 1894-99; of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, 1899— • 
Born in Magnolia, la., 1858. 

From a sermon delivered in Chicago, April 1-1, 1897. See Chicago Inter-Ocean, 
April 12, 1897. By permission of the author. 

The Bible is a handbook for right living. In all literature 
it is the one book that unveils the great scheme and schedule 
along which each man may lay out the lines of his life. It 
is a book that blazes forth against brutalism, but flames with 
light for him who seeks knowledge and integrity. Not once 
has it flattered the oppressor's hand, nor gilded with hope 
the future of him who loved selfishness and sin. No youth 
who riots through life, draining away the nerve forces that 
make for happiness, can, when the hour of weakness and 
disaster takes him, complain that he was not warned. And 
there is no hero who has stood for patriotism and liberty, 
and won immortal renown, who can fail to recognize his 
indebtedness to this book that taught him self-sacrifice and 
sweetness and law. 

This is the one book also that has stood for the home and 
commanded parents to rise up early and sit up late to teach 
their children the laws of industry and thrift and obedience. 
And having been the book for workingmen, the book for 
slaves, the book for the oppressed and the defeated, the book 
of hope, the book that in a midnight hour has lifted a star 
into the sky, this book finally became for man the book of 
mercy and redeeming love. Having rolled the thunder of 
its penalties along the horizon of time, at last it sent forth a 
voice to every wrongdoer urging him to forsake his iniquity 
and to love integrity. It unveiled the divine form of Jesus 
Christ, who exhibited God as a God of love. . . . 

Never before has the Bible been so vigorously assailed. 
Every instrument that wit and learning can devise or invent 
has been turned against this book. For full thirty years the 



THE BIBLE 27 

Bible has been in such a fire of criticism as no other book 
has even known. The result is that in Germany, England, 
Scotland, and among the educated classes in America the 
Bible has a standing and influence that it never before 
possessed. No other book has been so refurbished as this 
book. As the old canvas in Milan, when cleansed of grime 
and the smoke of centuries, revealed the faces of angels and 
seraphs, so criticism is cleansing from the Bible the grime 
of the Middle Ages. . . . For the higher criticism has helped 
the Bible, not hurt it. A few timid teachers have tried to 
protect Christianity, thinking it was a young and tender 
thing that would perish unless each year the counsel or 
assembly wrapped a red flannel around the truth to keep the 
truth from taking cold. But men cannot defend the truth, 
though the truth can defend men. History tells us of a fire 
that ran over the hills of Greece. While the flames burned 
through the vineyards each peasant wrung his hands and 
wept bitterly. Afterward when the people went into their 
blackened fields they found that the flames that had destroyed 
their vines had melted the silver, hitherto unsuspected, and 
made it flow from the fissures in the rocks. Thus the fires 
of criticism kindled upon the Bible have left us richer than 
they found us. If they have burned up the old traditions, 
they have given us new truths. 

Never before has the Bible been so truly a God-inspired 
book. Never before have scientists and scholars felt the full 
fascination of its glorious pages. Young men need this 
book once bedewed by the sweet mother's tears. Young 
women and maidens need this book that lent the revered 
father his manhood and strength. Poverty needs this book, 
childhood needs this book, liberty and learning need this 
sacred volume. When its truths fail eloquence will lose its 
dignity, the library will lose its glory, civilization will lose 
its power. Not until the last wrong has been righted, the 
last wound healed, the last tear wiped away, will this book 
have accomplished its mission. For it is the book of hope, 



2§ JOHN M ELLEN THURSTON 

the book of comfort, the book of conduct and character, the 
book of time, the book of eternity, and, therefore, it is the 
book of God. 



A PLEA FOR CUBA 

By John Mellen Thurston, Lawyer; Senator from Nebraska, 1895 — • 
Born at Montpelier, Vt., 1847. 

From a speech made in the Senate, March 24, 189S. See Congressional Record, 
March 24, 18 ,8. 

Mr. President, I am here by command of silent lips to 
speak once and for all upon the Cuban situation. I trust 
that no one has expected anything sensational from me. 
God forbid that the bitterness of a personal loss should 
induce me to color in the slightest degree the statement that 
I feel it my duty to make. I shall endeavor to be honest, 
conservative, and just. I have no purpose to stir the public 
passion to any action not necessary and imperative to meet 
the duties and necessities of American responsibility, 
Christian humanity, and national honor. I would shirk this 
task if I could, but I dare not. I cannot satisfy my con- 
science except by speaking, and speaking now. . . . 

Under the inhuman policy of Weyler not less than 400,000 
self-supporting, simple, peaceable, defenseless country 
people were driven from their homes in the agricultural por- 
tions of the Spanish provinces to the cities, and imprisoned 
upon the barren waste outside the residence portions of these 
cities and within the lines of intrenchment established a little 
way beyond. Their humble homes were burned, their fields 
laid waste, their implements of husbandry destroyed, their 
live stock and food supplies for the most part confiscated. 
Most of these people were old men, women, and children. 
They were thus placed in hopeless imprisonment, without 
shelter or food. There was no work for them in the cities 
to which they were driven. They were left there with noth- 
ing to depend upon except the scanty charity of the inhabit- 



A PLEA FOR CUBA 29 

ants of the cities and with slow starvation their inevitable 
fate. . . . 

The pictures in the American newspapers of the starving 
reconcentrados are true. They can all be duplicated by the 
thousands. I never before saw, and please God I may never 
again see, so deplorable a sight as the reconcentrados in the 
suburbs of Matanzas. I can never forget to my dying day 
the hopeless anguish in their despairing eyes. Huddled 
about their little bark huts, they raised no voice of appeal 
to us for alms as we went among them. . . . 

Men, women, and children stand silent, famishing with 
hunger. Their only appeal comes from their sad eyes, 
through Which one looks as through an open window into 
their agonizing souls. 

The Government of Spain has not appropriated and will 
not appropriate one dollar to save these people. They are 
now being attended and nursed and administered to by the 
charity of the United States. Think of the spectacle! We 
are feeding these citizens of Spain; we are nursing their sick; 
we are saving such as can be saved, and yet there are those 
who still say it is right for us to send food, but we must 
keep hands off. I say that the time has come when muskets 
ought to go with the food. . . . 

I shall refer to these horrible things no further. They are 
there. God pity me; I have seen them; they will remain 
in my mind forever — and this is almost the twentieth century. 
Christ died nineteen hundred years ago, and Spain is a 
Christian nation. She has set up more crosses in more 
lands, beneath more skies, and under them has butchered 
more people than all the other nations of the earth combined. 

Europe may tolerate her existence as long as the people 
of the Old World wish. God grant that before another 
Christmas morning the last vestige of Spanish tyranny and 
oppression will have vanished from the Western Hemi- 
sphere. . . . 

The time for action has, then, come. No greater reason 



30 JOHN M ELLEN THURSTON 

for it can exist to-morrow than exists to-day. Every hour's 
delay only adds another chapter to the awful story of misery 
and death. Only one power can intervene — -the United 
States of America. Ours is the one great nation of the New 
World, the mother of American republics. She holds a 
position of trust and responsibility toward the peoples and 
the affairs of the whole Western Hemisphere. 

It was her glorious example which inspired the patriots of 
Cuba to raise the flag of liberty in her eternal hills. We 
cannot refuse to accept this responsibility which the God of 
the universe has placed upon us as the one great power in 
the New World. We must act! What shall our action 
be? . . . 

Mr. President, there is only one action possible, if any is 
taken; that is, intervention for the independence of the 
island. But we cannot intervene and save Cuba without the 
exercise of force, and force means war; war means blood. 
The lowly Nazarene on the shores of Galilee preached the 
divine doctrine of love, " Peace on earth, good will toward 
men. ' ' Not peace on earth at the expense of liberty and 
humanity. Not good will toward men who despoil, enslave, 
degrade, and starve to death their fellow men. I believe in 
the doctrine of Christ. I believe in the doctrine of peace; 
but, Mr. President, men must have liberty before there can 
come abiding peace. 

Intervention means force. Force means war. War means 
blood. But it will be God's force. When has a battle for 
humanity and liberty ever been won except by force ? What 
barricade of wrong, injustice, and oppression has ever been 
carried except by force ? 

Force compelled the signature of unwilling royalty to the 
great Magna Charta; force put life into the Declaration of 
Independence and made effective the Emancipation Procla- 
mation ; force beat with naked hands upon the iron gateway 
of the Bastile and made reprisal in one awful hour for cen- 
turies of kingly crime; force waved the flag of revolution 



THE HEART OF OLD HICKORY 31 

over Bunker Hill and marked the snows of Valley Forge 
with blood-stained feet ; force held the broken line at Shiloh, 
climbed the flame-swept hill at Chattanooga, and stormed 
the clouds on Lookout heights; force marched with Sherman 
to the sea, rode with Sheridan in the valley of the Shenan- 
doah, and gave Grant victory at Appomattox; force saved 
the Union, kept the stars in the flag, made "niggers " men. 
The time for God's force has come again. Let the impas- 
sioned lips of American patriots once more take up the song : 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, 
With a glory in His bosom that transfigured you and me, 
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, 
For God is marching on. 

Others may hesitate, others may procrastinate, others may 
plead for further diplomatic negotiation, which means 
delay; but for me, I am ready to act now, and for my action 
I am ready to answer to my conscience, my country, and 
my God. 



THE HEART OF OLD HICKORY 

(Adapted) 

By Will Allen Dromgoole, Teacher, Author. Born in Murfrees- 
boro, Tenn., i860. 

Taken, by permission of the publishers, from " Heart of Old Hickory and Other 
Stories," copyright, 1895, by Dana Estes & Company, Boston. 

There was an air of desolation about the grim old State 
House, as, one by one, the last loitering feet came down the 
damp corridors. The Governor heard the steps and the 
rustle of a woman's skirt. He never felt quite alone in the 
empty State House until those steps had passed by. This 
evening, however, they stopped, and the librarian entered 
the executive office. 

" I only stopped to say a word for the little hunchback's 
mother," she said. "She is not a bad woman, and her 
provocation was great. ' ' 



3* WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE 

He remembered the words long after the librarian had 
gone; and sighing, he again took up the long roll of paper 
lying upon his desk. 

" Inasmuch as she was sorely wronged, beaten, tor- 
tured — " Oh, that was an old story; yet it read well, too, 
that old, old petition with that old, old plea— charity. It 
was a hard thing, — to hold life in his hand and refuse it. 
Those old threadbare stories had well-nigh wrought his 
political ruin. The papers had sneeringly nicknamed him 
" Tenderheart, ' ' and compared him, with a sneer, to that old 
sterling hero, Andrew Jackson, whose statue loomed like a 
bronze giant in the gathering twilight. 

' ' Papers ! Papers ! Wanter paper, mister ? ' ' 

A thin little face peered in at the door, a face so old, so 
strangely unchildlike, he wondered if it were not the face of 
a man fastened upon the misshapen body of a child. 

' ' Yes, I want a Banner. ' ' 

The boy had bounded forward at the welcome "Yes," 
but stopped at the remainder of the sentence, while an 
expression of regret and disgust crossed his little old-young 
face. 

" Don't sell that sort, mister; none o' our club don't. 
It's — low-lived." 

"What? You don't sell the Evening Banner, the only 
independent journal in the city ? " 

; ' That's about the size on't, " he said as he edged him- 
self, a veritable bundle of tatters, a trifle nearer the open 
grate. 

" And so you refuse to sell the Banner. Why is that ? " 

" 'Taint no good," was the reply. " None o' us likes it. 
Yer see, cully, it sez mean things, lies, you know, about a 
friend o' mine." 

1 ' And so the Banner abuses your friend ? And what does 
it say of him ? " 

" Aw, sher! it called him a mugwump, an' it said ez ther' 
wa'n't no backbone to him, an' ez he wuz only fitten to set 



THE HEART OF OLD HICKORY 33 

the pris'ners loose, an' to play the fiddle. An' it said a lot 
about a feller named Ole Poplar — " 

"What!" 

"Poplar? Ben 't it poplar? Naw, cedar; — ash, hick'ry 
— that's it! Hick'ry. Ole Hick'ry. It said a lot about 
him; an' it made the boys orful mad, an' they won't sell 
the nasty paper. ' ' 

' ' Who is your friend ? ' ' 

" Aw, he aint my friend perzactly. He's Skinny' s though, 
an' all the boys Stan's up for Skinny." 

" And who is Skinny ? " 

"Say, cully, wher' was you raised? Don't you know 
Skinny ? ' ' 

The Executive shook his head. " Is he a newsboy ? " 

" He wuz — He wuz a newsboy — till yistiddy. We buried 
uv him yistiddy." 

" And this man whom the Banner abuses was Skinny's 
friend." 

" Yes. This here wuz Skinny's route. I took it yistiddy. 
Yer see Skinny didn't have no mammy an' no folks, an' no 
meat onter his bones, — that's why we all named him Skinny. 
He wuz jest b-o-n-e-s. An' ther' wuz nobody ter tek keer 
uv him when he wuz sick, an' he jest up an' died." 

" Tell me about this friend of Skinny's." 

" The Gov'ner ? " 

1 ' Was it the Governor ? ' ' 

"Say, is ther' anybody else can pardon out convic's ? 
Say, cully, does you know the Gov'ner ? " 

"Yes; but go on with your story. Tell me all about 
Skinny and — his friend." 

" Me an' him wuz on the pris'n route, till — yistiddy. 
Least I wuz ther' till yistiddy. Skinny tuk this route last 
year. He begged it fur me when he — come ter quit, because 
I ben't ez strong ez — Solermun, you know. Wa'n't he the 
strong un ? Solermun or Merthusler, I furgit which. But 
'twuz when we wuz ter the pris'n route I larnt about 



34 IV ILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE 

Skinny' s friend, the Gov'ner, you know. First ther' wuz ole 
Jack Nasby up an' got parelized, an' wa'n't no 'count ter 
nobody, let 'lone the State. He suffered awful too, an' so'd 
his wife. An' one day Skinny said he wuz goin' ter write a 
pertition an' git all the 'fishuls ter sign it, an' git the 
Gov'ner ter pard'n ole Nasby out. They all signed it — one 
o' the convic's writ it, but they all tol' Skinny ez 'twuz no 
use, 'cause he wouldn't do it. An' one day, don't yer think 
when ole Nasby wuz layin' on the hospittul bunk with his 
dead side kivered over with a pris'n blankit, an' his wife 
a-cryin' becase the ward'n war 'bleeged ter lock her out, the 
Gov'ner his se'f walked in. He wuz sorter lame his se'f yer 
know, got it in the war. An' what yer reckin he done ? 
Cried! What yer think o' that, cully ? Cried; an' then he 
called the man's wife back, an' pinted ter the half-dead 
convic', an' told her ter ' fetch him home.' Did! An' the 
nex' day if the Banner didn't tan him! Yer jest bet it did." 

" But the best uv all wuz about Ole Bemis. Yer see, 
Bemis wuz a banker; a reg'lar rich un. An' the Banner 
said ' he orter to be hung, an' would be if the Guv'ner'd 
let him. But if he'd cry a little the Guv'ner'd set him on 
his feet agin, when the cotes wuz done with him. ' But the 
cote said he mus' hang, hang, hang. An' then whatcher 
reckin ? What do yer reckin, cully ? The nex' day down 
come a little yaller-headed gal ter the jail a-kerryin' uv a 
pard'n. An' they said the little gal come up ter see the 
Gov'ner, an' he wouldn't see her at first. But she got in at 
last, an' begged an' begged fur the ole man 'bout ter hang. 

" But the Gov'ner wouldn't lis'n, till all 't once she 
turned ter him an' sez she, ' Have>w got a chile? ' An' 
his eyes nit up in a minute, an' sez he, ' One, at Mount 
Olivet.' That's the graveyard, yer know. Then, he called 
his sec't'ry man. An' the man sez, ' Is it wise ? ' An' then 
the Gov'ner stood up gran' like, an' sez he, ' Hit's right; 
and that's enough.' Say, cully, whatcher think o' that? 
An' whatcher lookin' at out the winder ? 



THE HEART OF OLD HICKORY 35 

" Say, cully, does the firelight hurt yer eyes, makes 'em 
water? They looks like the picture o' Skinny's man. Oh, 
but hit's a good picture. It's a man, layin' in bed. Sick 
or somethin', I reckin'. An' his face has got a kind o' glory 
look. An' in one corner is a big, big patch o' light. An' 
plumb square in the middle uv it is an angul : a gal angul, 
I reckin, becase it's orful pretty. An' she has a book, a 
gold un; an' she's writin' down names in it. An' the man 
in the bed is watchin' uv her, an' tellin' uv her what ter do; 
for down ter the bottom ther's some gal '-writin'. Skinny 
figgered it out an' it said, ' Write me as one who loves his 
fellow men. ' Aint that scrumptious ? ' 

" Say! yorter knowed Skinny. He wuz the nicest boy 
yevver did see. He knowed ever' -thing, he did. He wuz 
a plumb good un. I wish you could see Skinny's picture 
anyhow. He set a sight o' store by it, Skinny did. When 
he wuz a-dyin' he turned ter me, an' sez he, ' Skip, hang 
the Gov'ner so's I can see him.' An' when I done it, he 
sez, sorter smilin', sez he, ' Skip ? ' Sez I, ' Skinny.' Sez 
he — so soft yer j 'est could a-heerd it; sez he, ' Write me ez 
one who loves his fellow men. ' An' that wuz the las' word 
he ever said on this earth. ' ' 

There was a sound of heavy footsteps coming down the 
gray stone corridor — a creak, groan, and bang. 

" What's that ? " asked the newsboy, starting up. 

" That is the porter, closing up for the night." 

The tatters stood as near upright as tatters may. Not a 
paper sold; he remembered it too late. 

" Say! yer wouldn't want a Herald? " 

" Yes," said the Executive, " a Herald will do." 

" Say! I can't change a dollar." 

The Executive smiled. " Never mind the change," said 
he, " and be sure you bring me to-morrow's Herald." 

" Say! who be you anyhow ? " 

" I am the Governor of Tennessee, Skippy. " 



3<5 HENRY CABOT LODGE 

There was a low soft whistle, a hurried shambling, and 
the ponderous door closed behind him. 

The Governor arose and began to put away his papers. 
" Inasmuch as she was sorely wronged " — his eye fell upon 
a line of the woman-murderer's long petition. Was this a 
case for clemency ? The crisp paper rattled strangely as he 
unrolled it, and fixed his own name, together with the great 
seal of the State. The critics might lash to-morrow; but 
to-night — he lifted his face to the starless sky and said: 
" Write me as one who loves his fellow men." 



THE FIGHT OFF SANTIAGO 

By Henry Cabot Lodge, Lawyer, Editor, Author; Member of Con- 
gress from Massachusetts, 1886-93; Senator, 1893 — . Born in Boston, 
Mass., 1850. 

Taken, by permission of the publishers, from Lodge's "The War with Spain." 
Copyright, 1899, by Harper & Brothers, New York. 

The details [of the fight off Santiago], the number of 
shots, the ranges, the part taken by each ship, the positions 
of the fleet — all alike have begun to fade from recollection 
even now, and will grow still dimmer as the years recede. 
But out of the mist of events and the gathering darkness of 
passing time the great fact and the great deed stand forth 
for the American people and their children's children, as 
white and shining as the Santiago channel glaring under the 
search-lights through the Cuban night. 

They remember, and will always remember, that hot 
summer morning, and the anxiety, only half whispered, 
which overspread the land. They see, and will always see, 
the American ships rolling lazily on the long seas, and the 
sailors just going to Sunday inspection. Then comes the 
long thin trail of smoke drawing nearer the harbor's mouth. 
The ships see it, and we can hear the cheers ring out, for 
the enemy is coming, and the American sailor rejoices 
mightily to know that the battle is set. There is no need 



THE FIGHT OFF SANTIAGO 37 

of signals, no need of orders. The patient, long-watching 
admiral has given direction for every chance that may befall. 
Every ship is in place; and they close in upon the advancing 
enemy, fiercely pouring shells from broadside and turret. 
There is the Gloucester firing her little shots at the great 
cruisers, and then driving down to grapple with the torpedo- 
boats. There are the Spanish ships, already mortally hurt, 
running along the shore, shattered and breaking under the 
fire of the Indiana, the Iowa, and the Texas; there is the 
Brooklyn racing by outside to head the fugitives, and the 
Oregon dealing death-strokes as she rushes forward, forging 
to the front, and leaving her mark everywhere she goes. It 
is a captain's fight, and they all fight as if they were one 
man with one ship. On they go, driving through the water, 
firing steadily and ever getting closer, and presently the 
Spanish cruisers, helpless, burning, twisted wrecks of iron, 
are piled along the shore, and we see the young officers and 
men of the victorious ships periling their lives to save their 
beaten enemies. We see Wainwright on the Gloucester, as 
eager in rescue as he was swift in fight to avenge the Maine. 
We hear Philip cry out: ''Don't cheer. The poor devils 
are dying." We watch Evans as he hands back the sword 
to the wounded Eulate, and then writes in his report : " I 
cannot express my admiration for my magnificent crew. So 
long as the enemy showed his flag, they fought like American 
seamen; but when the flag came down, they were as gentle 
and tender as American women. ' ' They all stand out to 
us, these gallant figures, from the silent admiral to the 
cheering seamen, with an intense human interest, fearless in 
fight, brave and merciful in the hour of victory. 



3 8 CHARLES READE 



THE LARK 

By Charles Reade, Novelist, Playwright. Born at Ipsden, England, 
1814; died in London, 1884. 

From the novel "Never Too Late to Mend," published in i860 by Ticknor and 
Fields, Boston. 

[It was in Australia on a bright Sunday morning. On a grass-plot 
near a little house that was whitewashed and thatched as if built in 
England, thirty or forty rough miners had gathered to listen to the song 
of a lark.] 

Like most singers, he kept them waiting a bit. But at 
last, just at noon, when the mistress of the house had 
warranted him to sing, the little feathered exile began as it 
were to tune his pipes. The savage men gathered round the 
cage that moment, and amidst a dead stillness the bird 
uttered some very uncertain chirps, but after a while he 
seemed to revive his memories, and call his ancient cadences 
back to him one by one. 

And then the same sun that had warmed his little heart 
at home came glowing down on him here, and he gave 
music back for it more and more, till at last, amidst the 
breathless silence and the glistening eyes of the rough 
diggers hanging on his voice, out burst in that distant land 
his English song. 

It swelled his little throat, and gushed from him with 
thrilling force and plenty; and every time he checked his 
song to think of its theme, — the green meadows, the quiet- 
stealing streams, the clover he first soared from, and the 
spring he loved so well, — a loud sigh from many a rough 
bosom, many a wild and wicked heart, told how tight the 
listeners had held their breath to hear him. And when he 
swelled with song again, and poured with all his soul the 
green meadows, the quiet brooks, the honey-clover, and the 
English spring, the rugged mouths opened and so stayed, 
and the shaggy lips trembled, and more than one tear 
trickled from fierce, unbridled hearts, down bronzed and 
rugged cheeks. 



MAINE AT GETTYSBURG 39 

Sweet home! 

And these shaggy men, full of oaths and strife and 
cupidity, had once been white-headed boys, and most of 
them had strolled about the English fields with little sisters 
and little brothers, and seen the lark rise and heard him sing 
this very song. The little playmates lay in the church-yard, 
and they were full of oaths and drink, and lusts and 
remorses, but no note was changed in this immortal song. 

And so, for a moment or two, years of vice rolled away 
like a dark cloud from their memory, and the past shone 
out in the song-shine; they came back bright as the 
immortal notes that lighted them, — those faded pictures and 
those fleeted days; the cottage, the old mother's tears when 
he left her without one grain of sorrow; the village church 
and its simple chimes; the clover-field hard by, in which he 
lay and gamboled while the lark praised God overhead; the 
chubby playmates; the sweet, sweet hours of youth, and 
innocence, and home. 

MAINE AT GETTYSBURG 

By Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, Soldier, Educator, Author, 
Statesman; Lieutenant-Colonel 20th Maine Volunteers, 1862; Brevetted 
Major-General, 1865 ; Governor of Maine, 1867-70; President of 
Bowdoin College, 1871-83. Born in Brewer, Maine, 1828. 

From an address delivered at the dedication of the Maine Monuments on the Battle- 
field of Gettysburg, October 3, 1889. 

The State of Maine stands here to-day for the first time in 
her own name. In other days she was here indeed — here in 
power, here in majesty, here in glory. But to-day she stands 
here, in a service of mingled recognitions; bending sorrow- 
fully above the dust to which have returned again the price- 
less jewels offered from her bosom; and stretching out her 
hand, of justice and of grace, to raise along these silent lines 
of battle, monuments eloquent of her costly devotion and of 
the great reward. 

To-day we stand on an awful arena, where character which 



4° JOSHUA LAWRENCE CHAMBERLAIN 

was the growth of centuries was tested and determined by 
the issues of a single day. We are compassed about by a 
cloud of witnesses; not alone the shadowy ranks of those 
who wrestled here, but the greater parties of the action — 
they for whom these things were done, — the State, the 
Union, and the People. And these are One. Let us— from 
the arena — contemplate them, the spiritual spectators. 

There is an aspect in which the question at issue might 
seem to be of forms, and not of substance. It was, on its 
face, a question of government, whether the mere will or 
whim of any member of our political system might destroy 
the body and dissolve the soul of the Great People. This 
was the political question submitted to the arbitrament of 
arms. But the victory was of great politics over small. It 
was the right reason, the moral consciousness, and solemn 
resolve of the people rectifying its wavering exterior lines 
according to the life-lines of its organic being. 

There is a phrase abroad which obscures the legal and the 
moral questions involved in the issue, — indeed which dis- 
torts and falsifies history: " The war between the States." 
Underneath this phrase lies the false assumption that our 
Union is but a compact of States. But this was not our 
theory nor our justification. The flag we bore into the field 
was not that of particular States, no matter how many nor 
how loyal, arrayed against other States. It was the flag of 
the Union, the flag of the people, vindicating the right and 
charged with the duty of preventing any factions, no matter 
how many or under what pretense, from breaking up this 
common Country. 

No one of us would disregard the manly qualities and 
earnest motives among those who permitted themselves to 
strike at the consecrated life of the Union. But the best of 
virtues may be enlisted in the worst of causes. There are 
times when it is more natural to act than to reason, and 
easier to fight than to be right. But the men who followed 
that signal made a terrible mistake. They did not under- 



MAINE AT GETTYSBURG 41 

stand this rich composite nature of the great people, born of 
eternal energies of freedom; incorporate under the guaran- 
ties of highest law; dedicated to immortal life in the great 
covenants of mutual human faith. 

We fought against no State, but for its deliverance. We 
fought the enemies of our common country, to overthrow 
the engines and symbols of its destruction wherever found 
upon its soil. We fought no better, perhaps, than they. 
We exhibited, perhaps, no higher individual qualities. But 
the cause for which we fought was higher. That thought 
was our power. We took rank by its height, and not of our 
individual selves. 

It is something great and greatening to cherish an ideal ; 
to act in the light of a truth that is far away and far above; 
to act for remoter ends than self, for higher good and for 
interests other than our own. To work out all the worth of 
manhood; to gain free range and play for all specific differ- 
ences; to find a theater and occasion for exercise of the 
highest virtues, we need the widest organization of the 
human forces consistent with the laws of cohesion and self- 
direction. 

A great and free country is not merely defense and protec- 
tion. For every earnest spirit, it is opportunity and inspira- 
tion. And the best of each being given to all, the best of 
all returns to each. 

The thought goes deeper. The inspiration of a noble 
cause involving human interests wide and far, enables men 
to do things they did not dream themselves capable of before 
and which they were not capable of alone. This conscious- 
ness of belonging, vitally, to something beyond individuality; 
of being part of the personality that reaches we know not 
where in space and in time, greatens the heart to the limit 
of the soul's ideal and builds out the supreme of character. 

It was something like this, I think, which marked our 
motive. We rose in soul above the things which even the 
Declaration of Independence pronounces the inalienable 



42 JOSHUA LAWRENCE CHAMBERLAIN 

rights of human nature. Happiness, liberty, life we laid 
on the altar of offering, or committed to the furies of 
destruction, while our minds were lifted up to a great 
thought and our hearts swelled to its measure. We were 
beckoned on by the vision of destiny; we saw our Country 
moving forward charged with the sacred trusts of man. We 
believed in its glorious career; the power of high aims and 
of strong purpose; the onward, upward path of history, to 
God. This is the spirit in which, having set on high the old 
flag telling of one life and one body, one freedom and one 
law, over all the people and all the land between the four 
great waters, we now come, as it were, home; we look into 
each other's eyes; we speak in softer tones; we gather under 
the atmosphere of the sacred thoughts and memories, — like 
the high, pure air that shines down upon us to-day, flooding 
these fields where cloud and flash and thunder-roll of battle 
enshrouded us and them in that great three-days' burial, — 
to celebrate this resurrection ; to rear on these far-away fields 
memorials of familiar names, and to honor the State whose 
honor it was to rear such manhood and keep such faith that 
she might have part in such far-away things. 

She stood on these hills and slopes a generation ago, of 
the foremost of the people's defenders. Whether on the 
first, the second, or the third day's battle; whether on the 
right caught and cut to pieces by the great shears-blades of 
two suddenly enclosing hostile columns; on the left, rolled 
back by a cyclone of unappeasable assault; or on the center, 
dashed upon in an agony of desperation, terrible, sublime; 
wherever there was a front, the guns of Maine thundered 
and her colors stood. And when the long, dense, surging 
fight was over, and the men who made and marked the line 
of honor were buried where they fell, the name of Maine ran 
along these crests and banks, a blazonry of ennobled blood. 

Now you have gathered these bodies here. You station 
them here on the ground they held, — part of the earth they 
glorified, part also of the glory that is to be. Ever hence- 



BANTY TIM 43 

forth under the rolling suns, when the hills are touched to 
splendor with the morning light, or smile a farewell to the 
lingering day, the flush that broods upon them shall be rich 
with a strange and crimson tone, — not of the earth, nor yet 
of the sky, but mediator and hostage between the two. 

Reverent men and women from afar, and generations that 
know us not and that we know not of, heart-drawn to see 
where and by whom great things were suffered and done for 
them, shall come to this deathless field, to ponder and 
dream; and, lo! the shadow of a mighty presence shall wrap 
them in its bosom, and the power of the vision pass into 
their souls. 

This is the great reward of service. To live far out and 
on in the life of others; this is the mystery of the Christ, — ■ 
to give life's best for such high sake that it shall be found 
again unto life eternal. 



BANTY TIM 

By John Hay, Author, Poet, Lawyer, Diplomat; Ambassador to Eng- 
and, 1897-98; Secretary of State, 1898. Born in Salem, In d., 1838. 

Taken, by permission of the publishers, from " Poems by John Hay," published by 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston. 

I reckon I git your drift, gents, — 

You 'low the boy sha'n't stay; 
This is a white man's country; 

You're Dimocrats, you say; 
And whereas, and seein', and wherefore, 

The times bein' all out of j'int, 
The nigger has got to mosey 

From the limits o' Spunky P'int ! 

Le's reason the thing a minute: 

I'm an old-fashioned Dimocrat too, 
Though I laid my politics out o' the way 

For to keep till the war was through. 



44 JOHN HAY 

But I come back here, allowin' 

To vote as I used to do, 
Though it gravels me like the devil to train 

Along o' sich fools as you. 

Now dog my cats ef I kin see, 

In all the light of the day, 
What you've got to do with the question 

Ef Tim shill go or stay. 
And furder than that I give notice, 

Ef one of you tetches the boy, 
He kin check his trunks to a warmer clime 

Than he'll find in Illanoy. 

Why, blame your hearts, jest hear me! 

You know that ungodly day 
When our left struck Vicksburg Heights, how ripped 

And torn and tattered we lay. 
When the rest retreated I stayed behind, 

Fur reasons sufficient to me, — 
With a rib caved in, and a leg on a strike, 

I sprawled on that cursed glacee. 

Lord ! how the hot sun went for us, 

And br'iled and blistered and burned! 
How the Rebel bullets whizzed round us 

When a cuss in his death-grip turned ! 
Till along toward dusk I seen a thing 

I couldn't believe for a spell : 
That nigger — that Tim — was a crawlin' to me 

Through that fire-proof, gilt-edged hell! 

The Rebels seen him as quick as me, 

And the bullets buzzed like bees; 
But he jumped for me, and shouldered me, 

Though a shot brought him once to his knees; 



AGAINST EXPANSION 45 

But he staggered up, and packed me off, 

With a dozen stumbles and falls, 
Till safe in our lines he drapped us both, 

His black hide riddled with balls. 

So, my gentle gazelles, thar's my answer, 

And here stays Banty Tim : 
He trumped Death's ace for me that day, 

And I'm not goin' back on him! 
You may rezoloot till the cows come home, 

But ef one of you tetches the boy, 
He'll wrastle his hash to-night in hell, 

Or my name's not Tilmon Joy! 



AGAINST EXPANSION 

By Henry U. Johnson, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Indiana, 

1891-99. 

From a speech made in the House of Representatives, February 22, 1898. See 
Congressional Record, Feb. 22, 1898. 

Mr. Chairman, I antagonize the pending treaty for 
another reason. It sets a precedent — a bad precedent, a 
vicious precedent; a precedent which, I imagine, will be 
followed, and that, too, at a very early day. You will find, 
gentlemen, that in this matter "increase of appetite" will 
" grow by what it feeds on." This is the most lamentable 
feature of this entire transgression, if, indeed, we are at all 
disposed to take the first step in the transgression. 

To-day the cry is, " Give us Hawaii! " Yield to this in 
a moment of weakness, and to-morrow you will hear the cry, 
" Give us Cuba! " Accede to this in an hour of irresolu- 
tion, and the day after you will hear the cry, " Give us 
Samoa!" And each one of these demands will be fortified 
by the artful sophistries evolved from the fertile brains of 
gentlemen who know full well how to pander to the national 
vanity and to appeal to the national cupidity. 



46 HENRY U. JOHNSON 

Such a policy excites cupidity; it provokes avarice; it 
breeds oppression; it inflicts injustice; it levies taxes; it 
incurs expenses; it stirs up strife; it sheds human blood; it 
is a step in the direction of dismemberment; and the inevit- 
able goal to which the nation tends which follows it is that 
of national disintegration and decay. 

Let the nations of the Old World go on pursuing this 
policy to their heart's content, if they desire to do so. Let 
them, I beg you, have a full monopoly of the evils which 
follow in its train. Let them saddle their people with 
enormous debts that they may equip great navies and raise 
great armies to precipitate them into conflicts in which they 
spend millions of treasure and shed oceans of human blood. 

Let the mother country, less fortunately situated than 
ourselves — obliged by the narrow confines of her island home 
to draw upon her colonies for subsistence and to draw upon 
them also largely for her commerce and her wealth — boast, 
if she pleases, that the sun never goes down upon British 
soil. We can point her to the fact that neither does the sun 
go down upon the wretchedness and misery which her 
remorseless policy has produced. 

We can point her to the revolts in India, to the difficulty 
of maintaining her supremacy in South Africa, to the 
enormous expense of keeping up her lines of communication, 
to the wars and rumors of wars which bring anxiety to the 
faces and sadness to the hearts of her people. We can point 
her — and we can do it with pardonable pride — to the flower 
of her colonies, which for seven long years she sought by the 
expenditure of money and blood to retain, breaking away 
from her grasp and in a little over a century, by pursuing 
directly the opposite policy to that which she has pursued 
in this respect, not only rivaling but outstripping her in 
progress and in material development and in everything that 
makes a nation great and respected in the eyes of mankind. 

No, Mr. Chairman, while these nations are teaching 
avarice, let us preach contentment. While they are exciting 



AGAINST EXPANSION 41 

by threats of war, let us soothe by promises of perpetual 
peace. While they are inflicting suffering and misery, let us 
dispense happiness and prosperity. 

Peace hath her victories 
No less renown' d than war. 

Let it be our happy lot to achieve those bloodless triumphs 
which, while they will exalt and enrich us as a people, will 
not derogate in the least from the happiness and welfare of 
any other nation under the light of the shining sun. Let us 
heed the advice and example of George Washington, that 
great and wise patriot whose birth is this instant being com- 
memorated throughout the entire land, and avoid all 
entangling alliances with the other countries of the earth. 
Let us turn our attention to the development of our own 
resources and to the upbuilding and upholding of that which 
is already ours. 

We have here, Mr. Chairman, as I said before, 70,000,000 
people, intelligent, thrifty, ingenious, and patriotic. We 
have an empire for our home. Our soil is teeming with 
natural riches, which await the deft hand of labor, seconded 
by the power of capital, to take them from their hiding- 
places and convert them into articles of ornament and use. 
We have fields to plant and to sow. We have crops to 
harvest and to garner. We have mines to open and work. 
We have mills and factories to operate. We are yet in the 
very infancy of our resources, in the very morning of our 
development. 

Our great navigable rivers, our railroads whose steel bands 
form the fretwork of our continent, are lying ready to convey 
to all classes of our population, in every portion of our 
domain, these products of the field, the mine, and the 
factory; and the great ocean vessels, with their dark hulls, 
are lying at our seaboard ports, ready to transport these 
things to the various nations of the globe and to receive 
back from them in trade those things which are necessary for 
our comfort and our happiness. 



4§ ROBERT GR^NT 

Mr. Chairman, if in this emergency we will only adhere 
to that which is right, if we will only be true to our teach- 
ings and our traditions, within twenty-five years to come 
events will amply vindicate our choice. 

We can then look back upon a progress more marvelous 
even than that which has marked our career in the past, and 
which has excited the admiration of the whole world. We 
can then lay our patriotic and peaceful achievements side by 
side with the achievements of any nation which has in the 
meantime pursued a policy contrary to our own with 
emotions of pride and exultation at the result. 

We will then thank God with grateful hearts that in the 
hour of temptation we had the moral courage to say " no," 
and the resolution to turn away from the enticement of those 
who would lure us from the plain path of duty and lead us 
in a new departure along the lines of a mistaken policy 
whose final destination no power short of the Supreme Ruler 
of the universe can foretell. 

THE BOAT-RACE 

By Robert Grant, Lawyer, Judge, Author. Born in Boston, Mass., 

1852. 

Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from " Jack Hall," copyright, 1887, by 
Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. 

The course of the boat-race was to be two miles in all; 
straight away for a mile to a flagged buoy and back again 
to another flagged buoy abreast of the boat-house. The 
three boats have turned the first buoy and are now only half 
a mile from home. 

"Steady now," murmurs Jack, between his teeth. He 
knows from Tom's exertions that his rival is spurting and 
putting all his vitality into his pace. A terrible moment of 
sustained effort follows, at the end of which Tom lashes the 
air with a misplaced stroke, the water splashes, and our 
hero's shell surging forward, comes on a level with its fore- 
runner, battles with it for twenty yards of struggling agony 



THE BOAT-RACE 49 

on the part of the doomed champion, and leaps to the front 
at last. Jack is ahead, and only a quarter of a mile left! 

Tom is beaten. And now for the Doctor. Where is he ? 
No need to ask that question, friend Jack, if you lift your 
eyes. Tom is beaten, not only by you but by the Doctor 
also; and though your most dreaded enemy is still in your 
rear, the nose of his boat is almost on a line with your stern, 
and he is quickening at every stroke. 

What a babel of cheers and exclamations bursts forth from 
the waving, transported crowd along the bank ! They begin 
to know who is who now, and can tell beyond the shadow 
of a doubt that the crimson and black and the blue and 
white are having a noble struggle for the lead. 

" Jack Hall is ahead! Hall! Hall! No, he isn't! Hit 
her up Doctor! Hurrah for Doctor! Hurrah for Hall! 
Hurrah for the Doctor! Tom, where are you ? Bonsall! 
Bonsall ! H-A-L-L ! H-A-L-L ! ' ' 

The tumult is maddening. Can it be possible that Jack 
Hall, who, on the whole, before the race, was rated lowest 
of the three, is going to break the school record and beat 
the invincible Doctor in one and the same breath ? It looks 
like it, if he can hold his own for two hundred yards more. 
It looks like it, decidedly, and there is plenty of clear water 
still between the winning goal and the foremost shell ; and 
see, the Doctor is spurting with a vengeance — look! — look! 
— and is he not gaining, too ? 

The Doctor has crept up, no doubt about that. The nose 
of his shell is now well beyond Jack's outrigger, and he is 
speeding like the wind. Jack is feeling terribly tired, his 
throat that he thought parched at the start burns as if it were 
on fire, and his eyes seem ready to start out of his head. 
His crimson handkerchief has fallen over his eyes, but he 
gives himself a shake and it falls to his neck, leaving his 
brow refreshingly free. He has vanquished Tom anyway. 
So much to be thankful for. Tom is a length behind, 
struggling still, like the man he is, but hopelessly vanquished 



$0 ROBERT GRANT 

all the same. Jack turns his head, remembering to keep 
cool if he can, and sights the goal. Not more than one 
hundred and fifty yards left! The reverberating yells and 
cheers are setting his blood ablaze. He can scarcely see, 
but he knows he has not spurted yet. He is neck and neck 
with the Doctor now. There can be nothing to choose 
between them. 

The time has come now, our hero knows, to put in any 
spurt that is left in him. Gripping the handles of his oars 
like a vise and shutting his eyes, Jack throws all his vital 
powers into one grand effort, which, to his supreme happi- 
ness, is answered by a great roar from the shore. 

"Hall! Hall! Hurrah! Nobly done, Hall! Hall 
wins! Row, Doctor, row! " 

The Doctor is rowing with all his might, you may be sure 
of that; but he has not counted on the staying powers of his 
adversary. He can do no more than he is doing, and this 
final spurt of Jack's, exhausting as it must have been were 
the race to be a quarter of a mile longer, will carry the day. 
The Doctor can hardly catch him now. 

Jack has opened his eyes and takes in the situation. The 
din of applause is tremendous. If he can hold out for six 
strokes more, the victory is his. 

One stroke. 

' ' Hall ! Hall I -" " Go it, Doctor ! ' ' 

Two strokes. 

" Jack! " "Doctor, go it! " " Tom, where are you ? " 

" Tom's in the soup! " 

Three strokes. 

"H-A-L-L!" "Doctor!" 

Four strokes. 

" Hall wins! Hall wins! " " Jack, your mother's look- 
ing at you! " 

Five strokes. 

"Hurrah! Huzzah! Hurrah! Hall! Hall! Doctor! 
Doctor ! ' ' 



WHAT THE FLAG MEANS 5 1 

Six strokes. 

Panting, breathless, and bewildered by the deafening 
cheers, Jack is made aware only by the sight of the nagged 
buoy shooting past his oar-blade that he has won the race 
and is champion of Utopia. 



WHAT THE FLAG MEANS 

By Henry Cabot Lodge, Lawyer, Editor, Author; Member of Con- 
gress from Massachusetts, 1886-93; Senator, 1893 — . Born in 
Boston, Mass., 1850. 

From a speech before the Republican State Convention of Massachusetts, March 27, 
1896. See Boston daily papers for March 28, 1896. 

No one has a greater admiration than I for the marvelous 
achievements of the American people in the last century, for 
the conquest of this mighty continent, for all the material 
welfare which has sprung up as if by magic from the Atlantic 
to the Pacific. Our business enterprise, our business intelli- 
gence, our business activity, are among the glories of the 
Republic. I have labored ever since I have been in public 
life to advance by every means in my power every measure 
that makes for the business interests of the country. No 
one values their importance more highly than I. 

But, gentlemen, I have seen it constantly stated, and this 
is the point I wish to make — that we must not deal with 
anything but business questions. 

Now, there is a great deal more than that in the life of 
every great nation. There are patriotism, love of country, 
pride of race, courage, manliness, the things which money 
cannot make and which money cannot buy. 

When we look at that flag, what is it that makes our 
hearts throb ? If you see it in a foreign land, after months 
of separation, what is it that makes your throat choke and 
your eyes get damp ? Is it because a great many men have 
made money under it ? I believe that that flag is a great 
deal more than the sign of a successful national shop, never 



52 HENRY CABOT LODGE 

to be unfurled for fear that the trader on the opposite side 
of the way may have his feelings ruffled; I think it is a great 
deal more than that. And when I look at it, I do not see 
and you do not see there the graven image of the dollar; you 
do not read there the motto of the epicure, ' ' Let us eat and 
drink, lor to-morrow we die." No; you read on that flag 
the old Latin motto, " Per aspera ad astra. " Through toil 
and conflict to the stars. 

You do not see the dollar on it. But when you look, 
and your heart swells within you as you look, the memories 
that come are very different. If you see any faces there, they 
are the faces of Washington and his Continentals behind 
him, marching from defeat at Long Island to victory at 
Trenton, to misery at Valley Forge, to final triumph at 
Yorktown. Look again and we all see the face of Lincoln. 
The mighty hosts are there of the men who have lived for 
their country and given their lives for their country and 
labored for it, each in his separate way, and believed in it 
and loved it. They are all there, from the great chiefs to 
the boys who fell in Baltimore. That is what I see, that is 
what you see. That is why we love it, because it means this 
great country and all the people. It means all the struggles 
and sufferings we have gone through, all our hopes, all our 
aspirations. It means that we are a great nation and intend 
to take a nation's part in the family of nations. It means 
that we are the guardians of this Western Hemisphere and 
will not have it rashly invaded. It means the one successful 
experiment of representative democracy. It means victorious 
democracy. That is what it means, and that is what I see 
there and that is what you see there. And, much as I care 
for business and economic questions, I never will admit that 
they are all or that the duty of a public man ceases with 
them. There are other questions that must be dealt with 
also. I never will admit that that beloved flag is to me 
merely the symbol of a land where I can live in rich content 



AGAINST THE SPOILS SYSTEM 53 

and make money. No; I see it as the American poet saw 
it: 

' ' And fixed as yonder orb divine 

That saw thy bannered blaze unfurled, 
Shall thy proud stars resplendent shine 
The guard and glory of the world." 



AGAINST THE SPOILS SYSTEM 

By Henry van Dyke, Clergyman, Professor, Author, Poet; Pastor 
Brick Presbyterian Church, New York, N. Y., 1882-99; Professor of 
English, Princeton University, 1899 — . 

From a sermon delivered in New York, N. Y., before the Sons of the Revolution in 
New York State, February 24, 1895. See New York Tribune, Feb. 25, 1895. 

Let me here speak plain words. I say without hesitation 
that the Spoils System is an organized treason against the 
Republic and transgression against the moral law. It is a 
gross and sordid iniquity. Its emblem should not be the 
eagle, but the pelican, because it has the largest pouch. It 
shamelessly defies three of the Ten Commandments. It 
lies, when it calls a public office a spoil. It covets, when it 
desires to control that office for the benefit of party. It 
steals, when it converts that office from the service of the 
commonwealth, into a gift to "reward" a partisan, or a 
sacrifice to "placate" a faction. And for how many in- 
direct violations of the other commandments, in Sabbath- 
breaking, blasphemy, adultery, and murder, the Spoils 
System is indirectly responsible, let the private history of the 
" rings " and " halls " which it has created, answer. 

But it is an idle amusement for clever cynics in the news- 
papers, and amiable citizens in their clubs, to vituperate the 
Ring and the Boss, while we approve, sanction, or even 
tolerate the vicious principle " To the victors belong the 
spoils." This principle is the root of the evils which afflict 
us. There can be no real cure except one which is radical. 
Police investigations and periodical attempts to " drive the 



54 HENRY VAN DYKE 

rascals out " do not go deep enough. We must see and say 
and feel that the whole Spoils System from top to bottom, 
is a flagrant immorality and a fertile mother of vices. The 
Ring does not form itself out [of the air; it is bred in the 
system. A Boss is simply a boil, an evidence of bad blood 
in the body politic. Let it out and he will subside. 

Sons of the Revolution kindle their indignation by con- 
templating the arrogance of the Tea-Tax and the Stamp-Act 
which tyranny attempted to impose on freemen. I will tell 
you of two more arrogant iniquities nearer home. The 
people of the largest State in the Union not long ago made 
a law that their civil service should be taken out of the 
domain of spoils and controlled by merit and efficiency. A 
committee appointed last year to investigate the working of 
the law, reported that it had been systematically disregarded, 
evaded, and violated, by the very Governor elected and 
commissioners appointed to carry it into execution, so that 
the number of offices distributed as spoils had steadily 
increased, and the proportion of appointments for ascertained 
merits and fitness had decreased twenty-five per cent in a 
year and a half. That is the first instance. And the second 
is like unto it. The people of the largest city in the Union, 
regardless of party, joined hands last fall in a successful 
effort to drive out a corrupt and oppressive organization 
which had long fattened on the spoils of municipal office. 
They elected a chief magistrate pledged to administer the 
affairs of the city on a business basis, with a single eye to 
the welfare of the city, and without regard to partisan influ- 
ence. To this chief magistrate now appears a man from the 
rural districts, like Banquo's ghost, but without a crown and 
with plenty of " speculation in his eyes/' demanding that 
his counsel shall be taken, and his followers rewarded, and 
his faction " placated," in the distribution of the offices of 
this great city of which he is not even a citizen. I say that 
is as impudent an iniquity as George III. and his ministers 
ever proposed towards their colonies. 



NEW AMERICANISM 55 

But who is responsible for it ? I will tell you. The cor- 
porations from whom the Boss gets his gains in payment for 
his protection. The office-seekers, high or low, who go to 
the Boss for a place for themselves or for others. And the 
citizens who, by voting or not voting, have year after year 
filled our legislative chambers with men who were willing to 
do the Bosses' bidding, for a consideration. 

It should be the desire and object of every patriotic 
American to remove these places as rapidly and as com- 
pletely as possible from all chance of occupation or use by 
the Spoils System. Burn the nests, and the rats will evac- 
uate. Clean the sewers, and the malaria will abate. Let it 
be understood that our chief elective officers are no longer 
to be sent into the fields to feed place-hunters, and it will 
no longer be difficult to get the most conscientious men to 
serve. Let the people once thoroughly repudiate and disown 
the ' ' Spoils System, ' ' and then the spoilsman and the boss, 
the ring and the hall, 

" Shall fold their tents like the Arabs 
And as silently steal away." 

NEW AMERICANISM 

By Henry Watterson, Journalist, Author; Member of Congress from 
Kentucky, 1876-77; Editor of Louisville Courier- Journal, 1868 — . 
Born in Washington, D. C, 1840. 

From an address at the annual meeting of the New England Society in New York 
City, December 22, 1894. See New York Tribune, Dec. 23, 1894. 

Eight years ago, to-night, there stood where I am 
standing now a young Georgian, who, not without reason, 
recognized the "significance" of his presence here and, 
in words whose eloquence I cannot hope to recall, ap- 
pealed from the New South to New England for a united 
country. 

He is gone now. But, short as his life was, its heaven- 
born mission was fulfilled; the dream of his childhood 
was realized; for he had been appointed by God to carry a 



56 HENRY IVATTERSON 

message of peace on earth, good will to men, and, this done, 
he vanished from the sight of mortal eyes, even as the dove 
from the ark. 

Grady told us, and told us truly, of that typical American 
who, in Dr. Talmage's mind's eye, was coming, but who, 
in Abraham Lincoln's actuality, had already come. In some 
recent studies into the career of that man, I have encoun- 
tered many startling confirmations of this judgment; and 
from that rugged trunk, drawing its sustenance from gnarled 
roots, interlocked with Cavalier sprays and Puritan branches 
deep beneath the soil, shall spring, is springing, a shapely 
tree — symmetric in all its parts — under whose sheltering 
boughs this nation shall have the new birth of freedom 
Lincoln promised it, and mankind the refuge which was 
sought by the forefathers when they fled from oppression. 
Thank God, the axe, the gibbet, and the stake have had 
their day. They have gone, let us hope, to keep company 
with the lost arts. It has been demonstrated that great 
wrongs may be redressed and great reforms be achieved 
without the shedding of one drop of human blood; that 
vengeance does not purify, but brutalizes; and that toler- 
ance, which in private transactions is reckoned a virtue, 
becomes in public affairs a dogma of the most far-seeing 
statesmanship. 

So I appeal from the men in silken hose who danced to 
music made by slaves — and called it freedom — from the men 
in bell-crowned hats, who led Hester Prynne to her shame — 
and called it religion — to that Americanism which reaches 
forth its arms to smite wrong with reason and truth, secure 
in the power of both. I appeal from the patriarchs of New 
England to the poets of New England; from Endicott to 
Lowell; from Winthrop to Longfellow; from Norton to 
Holmes; and I appeal in the name and by the rights of that 
common citizenship — of that common origin — back both of 
the Puritan and the Cavalier — to which all of us owe our 
being. Let the dead past, consecrated by the blood of its 



THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY 57 

martyrs, not by its savage hatreds — darkened alike by king- 
craft and priestcraft — let the dead past bury its dead. Let 
the present and the future ring with the song of the singers. 
Blessed be the lessons they teach, the laws they make. 
Blessed be the eye to see, the light to reveal. Blessed be 
Tolerance, sitting ever on the right hand of God to guide 
the way with loving word, as blessed be all that brings us 
nearer the goal of true religion, true Republicanism, and 
true patriotism, distrust of watchwords and labels, shams 
and heroes, belief in our country and ourselves. It was not 
Cotton Mather, but John Greenleaf Whittier, who cried: 

" Dear God and Father of us all, 
Forgive our faith in cruel lies, 
Forgive the blindness that denies. 

Cast down our idols — overturn 
Our bloody altars — make us see 
Thyself in Thy humanity ! " 



THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY 

By Edward Everett Hale, Clergyman, Author, Poet. Born in 

Boston, Mass., 1822. 

From "The Man Without a Country," published by Roberts Brothers, Boston. By 
permission of the author. 

[Philip Nolan, "the man without a country," was at one time an 
ambitious young officer in the United States Army. But because of 
intimacy with Aaron Burr, he was banished from his country and com- 
pelled to live upon a government vessel, where he was never allowed 
even to hear the name of his country.] 

My own acquaintance with Philip Nolan began six or 
eight years after the War, on my first voyage after I was 
appointed a midshipman. We had him to dine in our mess 
once a week, and the caution was given that on that day 
nothing was to be said about home. 

I first came to understand anything about ' * the man 
without a country ' ' one day when we overhauled a dirty 
little schooner which had slaves on board. An officer was 



58 EDWARD EVERETT HALE 

sent to take charge of her, and, after a few minutes, he sent 
back his boat to ask that some one might be sent him who 
could talk Portuguese. But none of the officers did: and 
just as the captain was sending forward to ask if any of the 
people could, Nolan stepped out and said he should be glad 
to interpret, if the captain wished, as he understood the 
language. The captain thanked him, fitted out another boat 
with him, and in this boat it was my luck to go. 

There were not a great many of the negroes; most of them 
were out of the hold and swarming all round the dirty deck, 
with a central throng surrounding Vaughan. ''Tell them 
they are free, Nolan," said Vaughan; "and tell them that 
I will take them all to Cape Palmas. " 

Cape Palmas was practically as far from the homes of 
most of them as New Orleans or Rio Janeiro was; that is, 
they would be eternally separated from home there. And 
their interpreters, as we could understand, instantly said, 
"Ah, non Palmas." The drops stood on poor Nolan's 
white forehead, as he hushed the men down, and said: " He 
says, ' Not Palmas. ' He says, ' Take us home, take us to 
our own country, take us to our own house, take us to our 
own pickaninnies and our own women. ' He says he has an 
old father and mother who will die if they do not see him. 
And this one says," choked out Nolan, "that he has not 
heard a word from his home in six months. ' ' 

Even the negroes stopped howling, as they saw Nolan's 
agony, and Vaughan 's almost equal agony of sympathy. 
As quick as he could get words, Vaughan said : 

" Tell them, yes, yes, yes; tell them they shall go to the 
mountains of the Moon, if they will." 

And after some fashion Nolan said so. And they all fell 
to kissing him again. 

But he could not stand it long; and getting Vaughan to 
say he might go back, he beckoned me down into the boat. 
As we lay back in the stern -sheets and the men gave way, 
he said to me: " Youngster, let that show you what it is to 



OXFORD COUNTY 59 

be without a family, without a home, and without a country. 
And if you are ever tempted to say a word or to do a thing 
that shall put a bar between you and your family, your 
home, and your country, pray God in his mercy to take you 
that instant home to his own heaven. Stick by your family, 
boy; forget you have a self, while you do everything for 
them. Think of your home, boy; write and send, and talk 
about it. Let it be nearer and nearer to your thought, the 
farther you have to travel from it; and rush back to it when 
you are free, as that poor black slave is doing now. And 
for your country, boy," and the words rattled in his throat, 
"and for that flag," and he pointed to the ship, "never 
dream a dream but of serving her as she bids you, though 
the service carry you through a thousand terrors. No matter 
what happens to you, no matter who flatters you or who 
abuses you, never look at another flag, never let a night pass 
but you pray God to bless that flag. Remember, boy, that 
behind all these men you have to do with, — behind officers, 
and government, and people even, — there is the Country 
Herself, your Country, and that you belong to Her as you 
belong to your own mother; and stand by Her, boy, as you 
would stand by your mother. 



OXFORD COUNTY 

By John Davis Long, Lawyer, Author; Governor of Massachusetts, 
1882-88; Secretary of the Navy, 1897—. Born in Buckfield, Oxford 
County, Maine, 1838. 

Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from a speech on Oxford County in 
" After Dinner and Other Speeches," published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, 
copyright, 1895, by John D. Long. 

Oxford County to me, sir, is a volume of poems, a para- 
dise of nature. Her crests of blue against the summer sky, 
and in winter white with glistening snow, her pure waters, 
her cool woods, her picturesque roads winding over hill and 
down dale, her exquisite intermingling of forest and farm, 



6o JOHN DAVIS LONG 

are such a natural park of loveliness and magnificence as no 
metropolitan wealth or art can ever imitate. 

For one, I owe it a deeper debt. Enlarging and educat- 
ing as were its physical influences, I pay my tribute still 
more gratefully to the living influences of its people. In 
American life and struggle, I believe there is no such educa- 
tion as that of a country boy's contact in school and at all 
times with the social democracy of a country such as Oxford 
County typifies, — absolutely meeting the ideal of a free and 
equal people, and ignorant of such a thing as caste or class- 
Yes, my friends, I believe we are here to utter our grati- 
tude to the men and women who gave a popular tone to 
Oxford County worthy of her hills and the grandeur and 
strength of her physical magnificence. My gratitude is from 
a full heart. I recognize with profound emotion the resolute, 
generous, and fruitful purpose and force which our fathers 
put into their farms and watercourses and trading-posts. I 
look back and behold worth and highmindedness driving the 
oxen afield, cutting the wood, tending the sawmill, leading 
the training field and the election, doing neighborly turns 
and kindnesses, bartering the worsted mitten over the 
counter, and making the wholesomest texture of a pastoral, 
provincial life the world has ever seen or ever will see, — the 
ideal combination of industry, equality, freedom, intelli- 
gence, and high character. It was the best blood of Massa- 
chusetts — pure English stock, little changed even to this 
day, the best families of Pilgrim and Puritan descent — which 
after the Revolutionary War made their way to Oxford 
County. But like all pioneers, they had little of this world's 
goods, and brought little except their splendid inheritance 
of worth and character, their brave hearts and honest, hard- 
working hands. 

This was the sort of men who were most distinctive of 
Oxford County, and who gave it character. What splendid 
stock it was! What sturdy English names, — those Mitchells, 
Lincolns, Holmeses, Lorings, Emerys, Parsons, Taylors, 



OXFORD COUNTY 61 

Cushings, Halls, Bicknells, Perrys, Washburns, Hamlins, 
Aldens, Whitmans, Mortons, and hundreds more! Hardly 
a family, however hard its fight with adverse circumstances, 
that has not been a contributor to the enterprise, the scholar- 
ship, the statesmanship, the patriotism, that have made our 
country great. 

In every avenue of its usefulness you find their trace. 
You hear their eloquence in every court and congress. You 
saw the flash of their swords in every battle for freedom. 
Well may we recall the men of Oxford with pride and grati- 
tude. No narrow scope was theirs. They nursed the 
schools. They valued and exemplified and maintained the 
education of the people. They contended for good politics. 
They discussed fundamental issues. Could you awake the 
voices of the past you would hear them also treat of reform, 
of tariff and revenue, and of the relations of the general 
government to its local components, with all the vigor and 
enlightenment which we sometimes think to be the exclusive 
attainment of our own time. 

I thank you, sir, for permitting me to join with you in 
your tribute to Oxford. The occasion touches me very 
tenderly, for it carries my heart and betrays my utterance 
into sacred memories of my own boyhood and home. They 
come freshly back to me, as yours to you, and I stand again 
at the threshold of an opening world, with the sunrise on 
my face. Again I sit at the blessed family fireplace as of 
old, unthinking then of the love and fervent devotion to my 
welfare and advancement to which I owe everything, and 
which to me now, looking back, is all so clear. I knew not 
then that angels' wings brushed my cheeks. Now I strain 
my eyes to heaven to catch their flight, 



62 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 



FROM "EVANGELINE" 

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Professor, Poet. Born in Port- 
land, Maine, 1807; died in Cambridge, Mass., 1882. 

By permission of the publishers of Longfellow's Poems, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 
Boston. 

LTnder the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, 
Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. 
There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the 

notary seated ; 
There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. 
Xot far withdrawn from these by the cider-press and the 

beehives, 
Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and 

of waistcoats. 
Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his 

snow-white 
Hair, as it waved in the wind; and the jolly face of the 

fiddler 
Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the 

embers. 
Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, 
Tons les Bourgeois de Chatres, and Le Carillon de Duiikerque, 
And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. 
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances 
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows; 
Old folk and young together, and children mingled among 

them. 
Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter! 
Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the Blacksmith ! 

So passed the morning away. And lo! with summons 

sonorous 
Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a 

drum beat. 
Thronged ere long was the church with men. Without in 

the churchyard 



FROM "EVANGELINE" 63 

Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung 

on the headstones 
Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the 

forest. 
Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly 

among them 
Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor 
Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and 

casement, — 
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal 
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the 

soldiers. 
Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of 

the altar, 
Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commis- 
sion. 
" You are convened this day," he said, " by his Majesty's 

orders. 
Clement and kind he has been ; but how you have answered 

his kindness, 
Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make and my 

temper 
Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be 

grievous. 
Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our 

monarch ; 
Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all 

kinds 
Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves from this 

province 
Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell 

there 
Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people! 
Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Majesty's 

pleasure! " 
As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer, 



64 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 

Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hail- 
stones 

Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his 
windows, 

Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from 
the house-roofs, 

Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures; 

So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the 
speaker. 

Silent they stood a moment in speechless wonder, and then 
rose 

Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, 

And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the 
doorway. 

Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce impreca- 
tions 

Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads 
of the others 

Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the black- 
smith, 

As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 

Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly 
he shouted, — 

<; Down with these tyrants of England! we never have sworn 
them allegiance! 

Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and 
our harvests! " 

More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a 
soldier 

Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the 
pavement. 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, 
Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician 
Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the 
altar. 



FROM "EVANGELINE" 65 

Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into 

silence 
All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his people; 
Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured and 

mournful 
Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock 

strikes. 
" What is this ye do, my children ? what madness has seized 

you ? 
Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught 

you, 
Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another! 
Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and 

privations ? 
Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgive- 
ness ? 
This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you 

profane it 
Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred ? 
Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon 

you! 
See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy com- 
passion ! 
Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, ' O Father, 

forgive them ! ' 
Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail 

us, 
Let us repeat it. now, and say, ' O Father, forgive them ! ' 
Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of the 

people 
Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate 

outbreak, 
While they repeated his prayer, and said, ' ' O Father, forgive 

them ! ' ' 



66 JOHN M ELLEN THURSTON 



THE MONROE DOCTRINE 

By John Mellen Thurston, Lawyer; Senator from Nebraska, 1895 — • 
Born at Montpelier, Vt., 1847. 

From a speech delivered in the United States Senate, January 28, 1896 ; the Senate 
having under consideration a concurrent resolution relative to the assertion and enforce- 
ment of the Monroe doctrine. See Congressional Record, Jan. 28, 1896. 

Mr. President, it is gravely argued that our country has 
outgrown the necessity for any further enforcement of the 
Monroe doctrine. It is urged that the United States has 
waxed strong and powerful ; that we no longer need fear any 
foreign interference in our affairs; that all our boundary lines 
have been definitely settled ; and that we cannot be affected 
or disturbed by South American controversies. It is, there- 
fore, insisted that we can now afford to let the other Ameri- 
can Republics look out for themselves, and that we should 
stand supinely by while foreign powers overawe and outrage 
our weak and defenseless neighbors. 

Mr. President, ours is the one great nation of this con- 
tinent; Mother of Republics, her lullaby has been sung over 
every cradle of liberty in the New World. Under the 
inspiration of her glorious example, the last throne has dis- 
appeared from the Western Hemisphere and the Old World's 
dominion over American territory and American affairs will 
not outlast the morning of the twentieth century. . . . 

I am not unmindful of the seriousness and gravity of the 
present situation. We are calling a halt upon that settled 
policy of aggression and dominion which has characterized 
the extension of the British Empire from the hour in which 
her first adventurous prow turned to unknown seas. The 
history of the English people is an almost unbroken series 
of military achievements. Great Britain has cleared her 
pathway into every corner of the earth with the naked sword; 
she has acquired and held her vast possessions by force of 
arms; she has mastered and subjugated the people of every 
zone; her navies are upon every sea, her armies in every 



THE MONROE DOCTRINE 67 

clime. She has not a son who did not suckle inherited valor 
from his mother's breast. No nation can afford lightly to 
challenge her purposes or arouse her stubborn pride. But 
does this furnish any reason why Americans should abandon 
any settled policy of the United States, or retire from any 
position which the honor of this Republic and the welfare of 
America require that we should assume ? 

Mr. President, our people have been represented as eager 
for war, and the Senator from Colorado seems to believe that 
it is necessary to cool their ardor by disparagement of the 
Monroe doctrine and eulogium of British grandeur. Ours 
is a mighty nation, but its people are slow to wrath. They 
believe in the divine doctrine taught by the lowly Nazarene 
on the shores of Galilee. The fear of God, the love of peace 
is in their hearts and in their homes. Nothing that can be 
said, nothing that can be done, will move or incite them to 
any act of injustice or to any premature preparations for war. 
But there is no other land in which the honor of the nation 
is so dear; there is no other land in which the love of 
country, of liberty, and of justice is so strong; there is no 
other land whose citizens would sacrifice so much to main- 
tain its institutions or defend its soil. . . . 

Mr. President, I share with the Senator from Colorado in 
the heritage of English blood. I glory with him in the 
mighty achievements of the English-speaking race; but I 
have not forgotten that England, as a nation, compelled my 
ancestors in 1637 to cross the stormy ocean and take up 
habitation upon the rocky and inhospitable shores of the 
New England wilderness, in order that they might enjoy 
freedom of conscience and the worship of God according to 
their own beliefs. I have not forgotten that the persecution 
of Great Britain followed them across the sea; I have not 
forgotten that she heaped indignities and injustice upon the 
colonists until they could no longer be borne; I have not 
forgotten that my grandsires carried muskets, and gave their 
American blood, that British dominion over American 



68 JOHN M ELLEN THURSTON 

colonies should be forever at an end. I have not forgotten 
that our sailors and marines were forced to drive England's 
navy from the main to make the deck of an American ship 
American soil. . . . 

Standing upon the floor of the American Senate and 
knowing whereof I speak, I say to the people of Great 
Britain that the grave issues which have been settled by brave 
men upon American battlefields can never be reopened. 
Sir, there is no division of sentiment in the United States. 
Let but a single drumbeat be heard upon our coast, 
announcing the approach of a foreign foe, and there will 
spring to arms in North and South the grandest army the 
world has ever known, animated by a deathless loyalty to 
their country's flag and marching on to the mingled and 
inspiring strains of our two national airs, Dixie and Yankee 
Doodle. 

Mr. President, the press of Great Britain has already 
seized upon the utterances of the Senator from Colorado as 
an indication that the people of this country are ready to 
abandon whatever place we now hold of duty and responsi- 
bility toward the republics and the affairs of the New World. 
But when the pending resolution comes on for final passage, 
I predict that it will be adopted by such a decisive vote as 
will advise all Christendom of the stand which the people of 
this country are prepared to make for the maintenance and 
enforcement of the Monroe doctrine. 

Sir, believing that the honor of my country is involved, 
that the hour calls for the highest expression of loyalty and 
patriotism, calmly confident of the verdict of posterity, 
reverently calling God to witness the sincerity of my purpose, 
I shall vote for the resolution reported by the Committee on 
Foreign Affairs. I shall vote for it not as an affront to any 
other nation, but to uphold the dignity of my own. I shall 
vote for it in this time of profound tranquillity, convinced 
that peace with honor can be preserved. But, sir, I would 
vote for it just as surely were we already standing in the 



THE DEATH PENALTY 69 

awful shadow of declared war. I would vote for it were the 
navies of all, Europe thundering at our harbors. I would 
vote for it were the shells of British battle-ships bursting 
above the dome of the nation's Capitol. I would vote for it 
and would maintain it at all hazards and at any cost, with 
the last dollar, with the last man; yea, though it might 
presage the coming of a mighty conflict whose conclusion 
should leave me without a son, as the last great contest left 
me without a sire. 

THE DEATH PENALTY 

By Victor Marie Hugo, Poet, Author. Born at Besaneon, France, 
1802; died at Paris, 1885. 

Gentlemen of the Jury, if there is a culprit here, it is 
not my son, — it is myself, — it is I! — I, who for these 
twenty-five years have opposed capital punishment, — have 
contended for the inviolability of human life, — have com- 
mitted this crime for which my son is now arraigned. Here 
I denounce myself, Mr. Advocate General! I have com- 
mitted it under all aggravated circumstances; deliberately, 
repeatedly, tenaciously. Yes, this old and absurd lex 
talionis — this law of blood for blood — I have combated all 
my life- — all my life, Gentlemen of the Jury! And, while I 
have breath, I will continue to combat it, by all my efforts 
as a writer, by all my words and all my votes as a legislator! 
I declare it before the crucifix; before that victim of the 
penalty of death, who sees and hears us; before that gibbet, 
to which, two thousand years ago, for the eternal instruction 
of the generations, the human law nailed the Divine ! 

In all that my son has written on the subject of capital 
punishment and for writing and publishing which he is now 
on trial, — in all that he has written, he has merely pro- 
claimed the sentiments with which, from his infancy, I have 
inspired him. Gentlemen Jurors, the right to criticise a 
law, and to criticise it severely — especially a penal law — is 



10 VICTOR MARIE HUGO 

placed beside the duty of amelioration, like the torch beside 
the work under the artisan's hand. The right of the jour- 
nalist is as sacred, as necessary, as imprescriptible, as the 
right of the legislator. 

What are the circumstances ? A man, a convict, a sen- 
tenced wretch, is dragged, on a certain morning, to one of 
our public squares. There he finds the scaffold! He 
shudders, he struggles, he refuses to die. He is young yet 
— only twenty -nine. Ah! I know what you will say, — " He 
is a murderer! " But. hear me. Two officers seize him. 
His hands, his feet, are tied. He throws off the two officers. 
A frightful struggle ensues. His feet, bound as they are, 
become entangled in the ladder. He uses the scaffold 
against the scaffold ! The struggle is prolonged. Horror 
seizes on the crowd. The officers, — sweat and shame on 
their brows,— pale, panting, terrified, despairing, — despair- 
ing with I know not what horrible despair, — shrinking under 
that public reprobation which ought to have visited the 
penalty, and spared the passive instrument, the executioner, 
— the officers strive savagely. The victim clings to the 
scaffold, and shrieks for pardon. His clothes are torn, — his 
shoulders bloody, — still he resists. At length, after three- 
quarters of an hour of this monstrous effort, of this spectacle 
without a name, of this agony, — agony for all, be it under- 
stood, — agony for the assembled spectators as well as for the 
condemned man, — after this age of anguish, Gentlemen of 
the Jury, they take back the poor wretch to his prison. 

The People breathe again. The People, naturally merci- 
ful, hope that the man will be spared. But no, — the guillo- 
tine, though vanquished, remains standing. There it frowns 
all day, in the midst of a sickened population. And at 
night, the officers, reinforced, drag forth the wretch again, 
so bound that he is but an inert weight, ■ — they drag him 
forth, haggard, bloody, weeping, pleading, howling for life, 
— calling upon God, calling upon his father and mother, — 
for like a very child had this man become in the prospect of 



AMERICAN BATTLE-FLAGS 7 1 

death, — they drag him forth to execution. He is hoisted 
on the scaffold, and his head falls! — And then through every 
conscience runs a shudder. Never had legal murder 
appeared with an aspect so indecent, so abominable. All 
feel jointly implicated in the deed. It is at this very 
moment that from a young man's breast escapes a cry, 
wrung from his very heart, — a cry of pity and of anguish, — 
a cry of horror, — a cry of humanity. And this cry you 
would punish! And in the face of the appalling facts which 
I have narrated, you would say to the guillotine, " Thou art 
right!" and to Pity, saintly Pity, "Thou art wrong!" 
Gentlemen of the Jury, it cannot be! Gentlemen, I have 
finished. 



AMERICAN BATTLE-FLAGS 

By Carl Schurz, Statesman, Journalist, Lecturer, Major-General, 
Senator from Missouri, 1869-75; Secretary of the Interior, 1877-81. 
Born near Cologne, Prussia, 1829^ 

Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from a " Eulogy on Charles Sumner," 
delivered in Boston, Mass., April 29, 1874, published by Lee and Shepard, Boston. 

From Europe Mr. Sumner returned late in the fall of 1872, 
much strengthened, but far from being well. At the opening 
of the session he reintroduced two measures, which, as he 
thought, should complete the record of his political life. 
One was his civil-rights bill, which had failed in the last 
Congress; and the other, a resolution providing that the 
names of the battles won over fellow-citizens in the War of 
the Rebellion should be removed from the regimental colors 
of the army, and from the army register. 

It was in substance only a repetition of a resolution which 
he had introduced ten years before, in 1862, during the war, 
when the first names of victories were put on American 
battle-flags. This resolution called forth a new storm 
against him. It was denounced as an insult to the heroic 
soldiers of the Union, and a degradation of their victories 



72 CARL SCHURZ 

and well-earned laurels. It was condemned as an unpatriotic 
act. 

Charles Sumner insult the soldiers who had spilled their 
blood in a war for human rights! Charles Sumner degrade 
victories, and depreciate laurels, won for the cause of uni- 
versal freedom! — how strange an imputation! 

Let the dead man have a hearing. This was his thought : 
No civilized nation, from the republics of antiquity down to 
our days, ever thought it wise or patriotic to preserve in 
conspicuous and durable form the mementos of victories won 
over fellow citizens in civil war. Why not ? Because every 
citizen should feel himself with all others as the child of a 
common country, and not as a defeated foe. All civilized 
governments of our days have instinctively followed the same 
dictate of wisdom and patriotism. 

The Irishman, when fighting for old England at Waterloo, 
was not to behold on the red cross floating above him the 
name of the Boyne. The Scotch Highlander, when standing 
in the trenches of Sebastopol, was not by the colors of his 
regiment to be reminded of Culloden. No French soldier 
at Austerlitz or Solferino had to read upon the tricolor any 
reminiscence of the Vendee. No Hungarian at Sadowa was 
taunted by any Austrian banner with the surrender of Villagos. 
No German regiment from Saxony or Hanover charging 
under the iron hail of Gravelot was made to remember, by 
words written on a Prussian standard, that the black eagle 
had conquered them at Koniggratz and Langensalza. 

Should the son of South Carolina, when at some future 
day defending the Republic against some foreign foe, be 
reminded, by an inscription on the colors floating over him, 
that under this flag the gun was fired that killed his father at 
Gettysburg ? Should this great and enlightened Republic, 
proud of standing in the front of human progress, be less 
wise, less large-hearted, than the ancients were two thousand 
years ago, and the kingly governments of Europe are to-day ? 

Let the battle-flags of the brave volunteers, which they 



THE BELL-RINGER OF ' 7 6 73 

brought home from the war with the glorious record of their 
victories, be preserved intact as a proud ornament of our 
State Houses and armories, but let the colors of the army, 
under which the sons of all the States are to meet and mingle 
in common patriotism, speak of nothing but union, — not a 
union of conquerors and conquered, but a union which is 
the mother of all, equally tender to all, knowing of nothing 
but equality, peace, and love among her children. 

Do you want conspicuous mementos of your victories ? 
They are written upon the dusky brow of every freeman who 
was once a slave; they are written on the gate-posts of a 
restored Union; and the most glorious of all will be written 
on the faces of a contented people, reunited in common 
national pride. 

THE BELL-RINGER OF '76 

Anonymous. 

Plain red-brick walls, the windows partly framed in stone, 
the hall-door ornamented with pillars, — such is the State 
House of Philadelphia in the year of our Lord 1776. 

Why do those clusters of citizens with anxious faces gather 
around the State-House walls ? There in yonder wooden 
steeple, which crowns the State House, stands an old man 
in humble attire, with white hair and sunburnt face. His 
eye gleams as it is fixed upon the ponderous outline of the 
bell suspended in the steeple there. He tries to read the 
inscription, but cannot. By his side, gazing at his face in 
wonder, stands a fair-haired boy, with laughing eyes of 
summer blue. 

"Come here, my boy. You can read; spell me these 
words and I'll bless ye, my good child." And the child 
raised himself on tiptoe, and pressing his tiny hands against 
the bell read these memorable words — 

' ' Proclaim Liberty to all the Land and all the Inhabitants 
thereof. ' ' 



74 ANONYMOUS 

The old man ponders for a moment on those strange 
words, then gathering the boy in his arms, speaks — " Look 
here, my child, wilt do the old man a kindness ? Then 
haste ye down stairs and wait in the hall by the big door, 
until a man shall give you a message for me. When he 
gives you the word, then run out yonder in the street and 
shout it up to me." 

It needed no second command. The boy sprang from 
the bell-keeper's arms and threaded his way down the dark 
stairs. Leaning over the railing of the steeple, the old man 
looked anxiously for the fair-haired boy. Minutes passed, 
yet still he came not. 

"Ah! he has forgotten me! these old limbs will have to 
totter down the State-House stairs, and climb up again — " 

Yet even as he spoke, a merry laugh broke on his ear. 
There among the crowd on the pavement stood the boy, 
clapping his tiny hands, while the breeze blew the flaxen hair 
all about his face. Then swelling his little chest, he raised 
himself and shouted a single word, il Ring/" 

Do you see that old man's eye catch fire ? Do you see 
that arm suddenly bared to the shoulder ? Do you see that 
withered hand grasping the iron tongue of the bell ? The 
old man is young again; his veins are filled with new life. 
Backward and forward, with sturdy strokes, h^ swings the 
tongue. The bell speaks out! The crowds in the street 
hear it, and burst forth in one long shout ! The city hears it 
and starts up from desk and work-bench, as if an earthquake 
had spoken. Yes, as the old man swung that iron tongue, 
the bell spoke to all the world. 

That sound crossed the Atlantic — pierced the dungeons 
of Europe — the workshops of England — the vassal-fields of 
France. That echo spoke to the slave — bade him look up 
from his toil, and know himself a man. That echo startled 
the kings upon their crumbling thrones. That echo was the 
knell of all crafts born of the darkness of ages, and baptized 
in seas of blood. For under that very bell pealing out 



THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE 75 

noonday, in that old hall, fifty-six traders, farmers, and 
mechanics had assembled to strike off the shackles of the 
world. And that bell that now voices the Declaration of 
Independence speaks out to the world — 

God has given the American continent to the free, the toiling 
mi/iicns of the human race, as the last altar of the rights of 
man on the globe, the home of the oppressed, for evermore ! 

THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE 

By Edwin Hubbell Chapin, Preacher, Lecturer, Essayist. Born at 
Union Village, N. Y., 1814; died in New York City, 1880. 

Selected, by permission of the publishers, from Chapin's " Living Words," pub- 
lished, in 1869, by the Universalist Publishing Co., Boston, Mass. 

Stand, in imagination, of a summer's morning, upon a 
field of battle. Earth and sky melt together in light and 
harmony; the air is rich with fragrance, and sweet with the 
song of birds. But suddenly breaks in the sound of fiercer 
music, and the measured tramp of thousands. Eager 
squadrons shake the earth with thunder, and files of bristling 
steel kindle in the sun; and, opposed to each other, line to 
line, face to face, are now arrayed men whom God has made 
in the same likeness, and whose nature he has touched to 
the same issues. The same heart beats in all. In the 
momentary hush, like a swift mist sweep before them images 
of home; voices of children prattle in their ears; memories 
of affection stir among their silent prayers. They cherish 
the same sanctities, too. They have read from the same 
Book. It is to them the same charter of life and salvation ; 
they have been taught to observe its beautiful lessons of love; 
their hearts have been touched alike with the meek example 
of Jesus. But a moment, and all these affinities are broken, 
trampled under foot, swept away by the shock and the 
shouting. Confusion rends the air; the simmering bomb 
plows up the earth ; the iron hail cuts the quivering flesh ; 
the steel bites to the bone; the cannon-shot crashes through 



76 EDWIN HUBBELL CHAPIN 

serried ranks; and under a cloud of smoke that hides both 
earth and heaven the desperate struggle goes on. The day- 
wanes, and the strife ceases. On the one side there is a 
victory, on the other a defeat. The triumphant city is 
lighted with jubilee, the streets roll out their tides of 
acclamation, and the organ heaves from its groaning breast 
the peal of thanksgiving. But under that tumultuous joy 
there are bleeding bosoms and inconsolable tears; and, 
whether in triumphant or defeated lands, a shudder of 
orphanage and widowhood — a chill of woe and death — runs 
far and wide through the world. The meek moon breaks 
the dissipating veil of the conflict, and rolls its calm splendor 
above the dead. And see now how much woe man has 
mingled with inevitable evils of the universe! See now the 
fierceness of his passion, the folly of his wickedness, wit- 
nessed by the torn standards, the broken wheels, the pools 
of clotted blood, the charred earth, the festering heaps of 
slain. Nature did not make these horrors, and when those 
fattening bones shall have moldered in the soil she will 
spread out luxuriant harvests to hide those horrors forever. 

Fancy yourselves standing on the banks of the Delaware 
more than a century and a half ago. The winds have 
stripped the leaves from the primeval forest, save where the 
pines lift their dark drapery to the sky. The river travels 
silently on its way. All around lies the solitude of nature, 
unbroken by wheels of traffic or triumphs of civilization. 
Apart from the roar and conflict of nations, — apart from the 
hurrying tides of interest and passion, — this lone spot in the 
wilderness, beside the calm river, is a spot for peace and 
love, — a spot where the children of humanity may come, 
bury their war-weapons, and embrace. Lo ! it is that spot. 
From the recesses of the forest there glides a. file of red and 
naked men, wild in their strength, and uncurbed in all the 
native impulses of humanity. As they cluster beneath the 
arching elm, or brood in dusky lines along the woody back- 
ground, their eyes glisten with the fires of their fierce nature, 



THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE 77 

and here and there a hand grasps more closely its weapon; 
yet in the grave silence and studied repose the old men bend 
forward their scarred faces, and the young incline their ears 
to hear. He who stands up to speak to them is a white 
man, unarmed, and almost companionless, yet in his mien 
there is neither hesitation nor fear, and his face, where mild- 
ness sweetly blends with dignity, banishes the suspicion of 
deceit. Consider him well ; for in the true record of his life 
his name is enrolled higher than those of heroes. Unbend- 
ing before kings, he reverences the rudest savage as a man. 
Guided by the ' ' inner light, ' ' the law of conscience and of 
truth, the Indian's rights are sacred as the white man's, and 
he asks no force to aid him but the force of love. And as 
he utters those simple words of peace and justice, those 
savage bosoms grow warm with the Christian law, those 
glittering eyes melt with charity. The child of the red man 
clasps the hand of the white stranger, the belt of wampum 
is made a beautiful symbol, and the words of solemn promise 
go forth, — the winds lift them higher than any shout of vic- 
tory, the woods repeat them far inland, and the Delaware 
bears them rolling by, — " We will live with William Penn 
and his children as long as the sun and the moon shall 
endure." It was an honest compact. It was a bloodless 
conquest. It was the triumph of peace and right. The 
historian records it with a glow. The philanthropist quotes 
it, and takes courage. The Christian remembers it, and 
clings with new faith to the religion that accomplished it. 



7 8 HENRY CLAY 



GREEK REVOLUTION 

By Henry Clay, Lawyer, Statesman ; Member of Congress from Ken- 
tucky, 1811-25; Secretary of State, 1825-29; Senator from Kentucky, 
1831-42, 1849-52. Born in Hanover County, Va. , 1777; died in 
Washington, D. C, 1852. 

From a speech in the House of Representatives, January 20, 1824 ; the House having 
under consideration the resolution that provision ought to be made by law for defraying 
the expense incident to the appointment of a commissioner to Greece. See " Life and 
Speeches of Henry Clay," Vol. I, published in 1844 by Van Amringe & Bixby, New 
York, N. Y. 

No united nation that resolves to be free can be con- 
quered. And has it come to this ? Are we so humbled, so 
low, so debased, that we dare not express our sympathy for 
suffering Greece; that we dare not articulate our detestation 
of the brutal excesses of which she has been the bleeding 
victim, lest we might offend some one or more of their 
imperial and royal majesties ? If gentlemen are afraid to act 
rashly on such a subject, suppose that we unite in an 
humble petition, addressed to their majesties, beseeching 
them, that of their gracious condescension they would allow 
us to express our feelings and our sympathies. How shall 
it run ? ' ' We, the representatives of the free people of the 
United States of America, humbly approach the thrones of 
your imperial and royal majesties, and supplicate that, of 
your imperial and royal clemency — " I cannot go through 
the disgusting recital; my lips have not yet learned to pro- 
nounce the sycophantic language of a degraded slave! Are 
we so mean, so base, so despicable, that we may not attempt 
to express our horror, utter our indignation, at the most 
brutal and atrocious war that ever stained earth or shocked 
high heaven ? At the ferocious deeds of a savage and in- 
furiated soldiery, stimulated and urged on by the clergy of a 
fanatical and inimical religion, and rioting in all the excesses 
of blood and butchery, at the mere details of which the heart 
sickens and recoils ? 

But, sir, it is not for Greece alone that I desire to see this 



GREEK RESOLUTION 79 

measure adopted. It will give to her but little support, and 
that purely of a moral kind. It is principally for America, 
for the credit and character of our common country, for our 
own unsullied name, that I hope to see it pass. What 
appearance on the page of history would a record like this 
exhibit ? "In the month of January, in the year of our Lord 
and Savior 1824, while all European Christendom beheld, 
with cold and unfeeling indifference, the unexampled wrongs 
and inexpressible misery of Christian Greece, a proposition 
was made in the Congress of the United States, almost the 
sole, the last, the greatest depository of human hope and 
human freedom, the representatives of a gallant nation, con- 
taining a million of freemen ready to fly to arms, while the 
people of that nation were spontaneously expressing its deep- 
toned feeling, and the whole continent, by one simultaneous 
emotion, was rising, and solemnly and anxiously supplicat- 
ing and invoking high Heaven to spare and succor Greece, 
and to invigorate her arms in her glorious cause, whilst 
temples and senate houses were alike resounding with one 
burst of generous and holy sympathy; in the year of our 
Lord and Savior — that Savior of Greece and of us — a 
proposition was offered in the American Congress to send a 
messenger to Greece, to inquire into her state and condition, 
with a kind expression of our good wishes and our sympathies 
— and it was rejected! " Go home, if you can; go home, if 
you dare, to your constituents, and tell them that you voted 
it down; meet, if you can, the appalling countenances of 
those who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank from 
the declaration of your own sentiments; that you cannot tell 
how, but that some unknown dread, some indescribable 
apprehension, some indefinable danger, drove you from your 
purpose; that the specters of cimeters, and crowns, and 
crescents, gleamed before you and alarmed you; and that 
you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by religion, 
by liberty, by national independence, and by humanity. I 
cannot bring myself to believe that such will be the feeling 



8o GEORGE FRISBIE HOAR 

of a majority of the committee. But, for myself, though 
every friend of the cause should desert it, and I be left to 
stand alone with the gentleman from Massachusetts, I will 
give to his resolution the poor sanction of my unqualified 
approbation. 

THE PATH OF DUTY 

By George Frisbie Hoar, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Massa- 
chusetts, 1868-76; Senator, 1877 — . Born in Concord, Mass., 1826. 
From an open letter published in the daily papers of Boston, January, 10, 1900. 

' ' What he wants us to do I can define in no other words 
than these: He wants us to skulk from our duty." 

I wish to put against this statement my emphatic denial. 
What I wanted the American people to do in the beginning, 
what I have wanted them to do all along, what I want them 
to do now is to do in the Philippines exactly what we have 
done, are doing, and expect to do in Cuba. . . . We have 
liberated both from Spain, and we have had no thought — at 
least I have had no thought — of giving either back to Spain. 

I should as soon give back a redeemed soul to Satan as 
give back the people of the Philippine Islands to the cruelty 
and tyranny of Spain. . . . Having delivered them from 
Spain, we were bound in all honor to protect their newly 
acquired liberty against the ambition or greed of any other 
nation on earth. And we were equally bound to protect 
them against our own. We were bound to stand by them, 
a defender and protector, until their new governments were 
established in freedom and in honor; until they had made 
treaties with the powers of the earth and were as secure in 
their national independence as Switzerland is secure, as 
Denmark is secure, as Belgium is secure, as San Domingo 
or Venezuela is secure. 

Now, if this be a policy of skulking from duty, I fail to 
see it. . . . 

We based our policy in regard to Cuba, did we not, on 
the ground that it was the policy of righteousness and 



THE PATH OF DUTY 81 

liberty ? We did not tempt the cupidity of any millionaire 
or even the honest desire for employment of any workman, 
by the argument that if we reduced the people of Cuba to 
our dominion we could make money out of her and she 
could not help herself. In those days we were appealing to 
the great, noble heart of America, and not to the breeches- 
pocket. . . . 

If we were bound in honor and in righteousness; bound 
by the history of our own past; bound by the principles and 
pledges of our people, to abstain from depriving Cuba of the 
liberty we had given her because it was right, we are, in my 
judgment, all the more bound to abstain from depriving the 
people of the Philippine Islands of their liberties because it 
is right. . . . 

I would send Gen. Wood or Gen. Miles or Admiral Dewey 
to Luzon. I would have him gather about him a cabinet 
of the best men among the Filipinos who have the confidence 
of the people and desire nothing but their welfare. In all 
provinces and municipalities where civil government is now 
established possessing the confidence of the people, I would 
consult with their rulers and representatives. I would lend 
the aid of the army of the United States only to keep order. 
I would permit the people to make laws and to administer 
laws, subject to some supervision or inspection, till the 
disturbed times are over and peace has settled down again 
upon that country, insuring the security of the people against 
avarice, ambition, or peculation. 

So soon as it seems that government can maintain itself 
peacefully and in order, I would by degrees withdraw the 
authority of the United States, making a treaty with them 
that we would protect them against the cupidity of any other 
nation and would lend our aid for a reasonable time to 
maintain order and law. I would not hesitate, if it were 
needful, although I have not the slightest belief that it would 
be needful, to vote to make them a loan of a moderate sum 
to replenish their wasted treasury. 



82 GEORGE FRISB1E HOAR 

Now if this be skulking, if this be ignoble, if this be 
unworthy of an American citizen or a Massachusetts Senator, 
then I must plead guilty to Mr. Quigg's charge. But these 
are the things I would have done, and this is the thing I 
would do now. If this counsel had been followed, not a 
man would have died on either side; not a drop of blood 
would have been spilt; not a recruit would have been needed 
by army or navy since the day when Manila capitulated to 
Otis. . . . 

I do not know what other men may think, or what other 
men may say. But there is not a drop of blood in my veins, 
there is not a feeling in my heart that does not respect a 
weak people struggling with a strong one. . . . 

When Patrick Henry was making his great speech in the 
state-house at Williamsburg for the same cause for which the 
Filipinos are now dying, he was interrupted by somebody 
with a shout of "treason." He finished his sentence, 
and replied, as every Essex schoolboy knows: " If this be 
treason, make the most of it." I am unworthy to loose the 
latchet of the shoes of Patrick Henry. But I claim to love 
human liberty as well as he did, and I believe the love of 
human liberty will never be held to be treason by Massa- 
chusetts. 

There were five of my name and blood who stood in arms 
at Concord bridge in the morning of the Revolution, on the 
19th of April, 1775. My grandfather stood with John 
Adams and Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin when 
they presented to the Continental Congress that great paper, 
the bringing in of which was the foremost action of human 
history, which declares that the just powers of government 
rest upon the consent of the people, and that when a people 
desires it, the laws of nature and the laws of God entitle 
them to take a separate and equal station among the nations 
of the earth. . . . 

I have no right to feel any peculiar pride in the action of 
any ancestor of my own in those great days which tried 



THE MAIDEN MARTYR S3 

men's souls, and when all true Americans thought in that 
way, although I should be disgraced, and ought to hide my 
head from the gaze of men, if I were to depart from those 
principles. But I have a right to feel a just pride in, and 
to boast of something much higher than any personal 
kindred. I am a son of Massachusetts. For more than 
three-score years and ten I have sat at her dear feet. I have 
seen the light from her beautiful eyes. I have heard high 
counsel from her lips. She has taught me to love liberty, 
to stand by the weak against the strong, when the rights of 
the weak are in peril; she has led me to believe that if I do 
this, however humbly, however imperfectly, and whatever 
other men may say, I shall have her approbation, and shall 
be deemed not unworthy of her love. Other men will do as 
they please. But as for me, God helping me, I can do no 
otherwise. 



THE MAIDEN MARTYR 

Anonymous, fjy^j <£^ 



A troop of soldiers waited at the door; 
A crowd of people gathered in the street, 
Aloof a little from them bared sabers gleamed 
And flashed into their faces. Then the door 
Was opened, and two women meekly stepped 
Out of the prison. One was weak and old, 
A woman full of tears and full of woes; 
The other was a maiden in her morn; 
And they were one in name and one in faith, 
Mother and daughter in the bond of Christ 
That bound them closer than the ties of blood. 

The troop moved on ; and down the sunny street 
The people followed, ever falling back 
As in their faces flashed the naked blades. 
But in the midst the women simply went 
As if they two were walking side by side 



84 ANONYMOUS 

Up to God's house on some still Sabbath morn; 
Only they were not clad for Sabbath day, 
But as they went about their daily tasks; 
They went to prison and they went to death, 
Upon their Master's service. 

On the shore 
The troopers halted; all the shining sands 
Lay bare and glistening; for the tide had 
Drawn back to its farthest margin's weedy mark, 
And each succeeding wave, with flash and curve, 
Drew nearer by a hand-breadth. " It will be 
A long day's work," murmured those murderous men 
As they slacked rein. The leader of the troops 
Dismounted, and the people passing near 
Then heard the pardon proffered with the oath 
Renouncing and abjuring part with all 
The persecuted, convenanted folk, 
But both refused the oath: " Because," they said, 
" Unless with Christ's dear servants we have part, 
We have no part with him." 

On this they took 
The elder Margaret, and led her out 
Over the sliding sands, the weedy sludge, 
The pebbly shoals, far out, and fastened her 
Upon the farthest stake, already reached 
By every rising wave, and left her there; 
And as the waves crept about her feet she prayed 
; ' That He would firm uphold her in their midst, 
Who holds them in the hollow of His hand." 

The tide flowed in. And up and down the shore 
There paced the Prophet and the Laird of Lag, 
Grim Grierson — with Windram and with Grahame, 
And the rude soldiers, jesting with coarse oaths, 
As in the midst the maiden meekly stood, 
Waiting her doom delayed, said, " She would 
Turn before the tide, seek refuge in their arms 






THE MAIDEN MARTYR 85 

From the chill waves." But ever to her lips 
There came the wondrous words of life and peace; 
" If God be for us, who can be against ? " 
" Who shall divide us from the love of Christ ? " 
" Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature." 

And still the tide was flowing in; 
They turned young Margaret's face toward the sea, 
Where something white was floating — something 
White as the sea-mew that sits upon the wave; 
But as she looked it sank; then showed again; 
Then disappeared. And round the shore 
And stake the tide stood ankle-deep. 

Then Grierson, 
W r ith cursing, vowed that he would wait 
No more, and to the stake the soldier led her 
Down, and tied her hands, and round her 
Slender waist too roughly cast the rope; for 
Windram came and eased it while he whispered 
In her ear, " Come, take the test and you are free." 
And one cried, " Margaret, say but God save 
The King! " " God save the King of His great grace," 
She answered, but the oath she would not take. 

And still the tide flowed in, 
And drove the people back and silenced them. 
The tide flowed in, and rising to her knees, 
She sang the Psalm, " To Thee I lift my soul; " 
The tide flowed in, and rising to her waist, 
' ' To Thee, my God, I lift my soul, ' ' she sang. 
The tide flowed in, and rising to her throat, 
She sang no more, but lifted up her face, 
And there was glory over all the sea, 
A flood of glory, and the lifted face 
Swam in it till it bowed beneath the flood, 
And Scotland's maiden martyr went to God. 



V 



86 WILLIAM PIERCE PR YE 



THE STATE OF MAINE 

By William Pierce Frye, Lawyer ; Member of Congress from Maine, 
1871-81; Senator, 1881 — . Born in Lewiston, Maine, 1831. 

From an address delivered at the annual banquet of the New England Society in 
Brooklyn, December 22, 1886. See Sixth Annual Report of the Society. 

I love the State of Maine better than any spot in the wide, 
wide world. The farther I travel, the more I see, the better 
I love her. This may seem strange to some luxuriously fed 
and clothed and housed son of the Empire State. But let 
me refer to what some would call the disadvantages of my 
native State, and illustrate the magnificent law of compen- 
sation. 

"Your soil is hard and unproductive/' Yes, no poet 
with any practical knowledge of it would talk about " tick- 
ling it with a hoe to make it laugh with the harvest." No 
tickling process will do there, but it responds gratefully to 
hard work ; and you, sir, and I know that success attained 
by adequate achievement is that alone which is worth any- 
thing. Did you know that Maine last year raised more 
wheat than all the rest of New England put together ? Her 
hay crop was worth fifteen million dollars, and we have an 
agricultural county in the extreme northeast part of the 
Republic called Aroostook which has quadrupled in popula- 
tion and wealth since i860. 

" But the surface of your State is rugged, hilly, moun- 
tainous." Yes, it is; but remember that every single 
mountain has a fertile valley, and that five thousand rivers 
seek the sea through those valleys, with currents so swift and 
strong that to-day they can carry every spindle in the United 
States of America. 

" But these rivers and lakes are ice-bound one-third of 
the year." Yes, but sixty-five hundred men cut the ice into 
crystal blocks, load it on five hundred Maine vessels, and 
send it to every port in the United States. 

" But your coast is dangerous, tempestuous, rock- 



THE STATE OF MAINE 87 

bound." Our coast is rock-bound, I admit. But seven 
thousand men cut and hammer and chisel that rough granite 
into things of beauty to adorn every city in the Republic; 
.load them on five hundred more Maine vessels, and every 
year bring us back one million seven hundred thousand 
dollars in cash. 

" But you have immense forests in Maine." Yes, we 
have. We have one forest in the center of which you might 
plant the whole Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and then 
the entire population would be compelled to hire guides to 
find their way over the border. But they are forests of pine, 
and spruce, and hemlock, and ten thousand men every year 
cut the trees, haul the logs, drive them to sawmills, manu- 
facture them into lumber, load them on vessels, and bring 
home annually seven million dollars. 

But after all the best product of the State of Maine is its 
men and women. The fathers scattered the seed of patience, 
of endurance, of honesty, of faith in God, and of hope in a 
glorious immortality, and a hundred years of Indian wars, 
in which one in every twenty of our people was slain; a 
ceaseless strife with the Earth and the Sea for the necessaries 
of life, strengthened that seed. Neither despotism, nor 
slavery, nor great wealth, nor extreme poverty, nor ease, nor 
luxury choked its growth. This Republic of ours has reaped 
from it a magnificent harvest and grown strong. 

Were you to ride to a small country town in Maine, to the 
summit of a beautiful hill, where are an old Puritan meeting- 
house and an old Puritan schoolhouse, you could see there 
a cradle in which one mother had rocked one United States 
senator, one Cabinet officer, five members of the National 
House of Representatives, four governors of States, two 
ministers plenipotentiary, one major-general in the United 
States Army, and one captain in the United States Navy. 
She was, indeed, one of our Puritan mothers. 

Were you to sound the bugle of recall to-night, what a 
magnificent procession of the great, the powerful, the learned, 



88 GEORGE FRISBIE HOAR 

the successful, would take up their line of march back to the 
old State. Many great western cities would mourn for their 
sons and refuse to be comforted because they were not. 
And all the States and Territories of the great North would 
look with dismay upon the wonderful exodus which was 
taking place. 

Yes, our climate is cold; our snows are deep and long 
continued, it is true. But our homes are warm, our firesides 
bright, our winter evenings long, our books plenty; and the 
result is thoughtful, earnest, active, home-loving men and 
women. 



DANIEL WEBSTER 

By George Frisbie Hoar, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Massa- 
chusetts, 1868-76; Senator, 1877 — . Born in Concord, Mass., 1826. 

From a speech in the Senate December 20, 1894, on the receiving of the statues of 
Webster and Stark. See Congressional Record, Dec. 20, 1894. 

Until the 7th of March, 1850, Daniel Webster was the 
oracle of New England. His portrait was upon the farmers' 
walls. He seemed to dwell at every fireside, not so much a 
guest as at home, in an almost bodily presence, mingling 
with every discussion where the power, the glory, or the 
authority of the country was in question. . . . 

No language can fitly describe the condition of mind with 
which the report of Mr. Webster's speech of the 7th of 
March, 1850, was heard. Nothing could have resisted the 
dominion of Daniel Webster over New England until he pro- 
voked an encounter with the inexorable conscience of the 
Puritan. The shock of amazement, of consternation, and 
of grief which went through the North has had no parallel 
save that which attended the assassination of Lincoln. Is 
it you, Daniel Webster, that are giving us this counsel ? 
Do you tell us that when the fugitive slave girl lays her sup- 
pliant hands on the horns of the altar, that it is our duty to 
send her back to be scourged, to be outraged, to be denied 



DANIEL WEBSTER 89 

the right to read her Bible, to be the mother of a progeny 
for whom, for countless generations, these things shall be the 
common and relentless doom ? Is it you, the orator of 
Plymouth Rock, of Bunker Hill, defender of the Constitu- 
tion, from whose volcanic lips came those words of molten 
lava, " Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and in- 
separable " ? Has the intellect that wrought out the massive 
logic of the reply to Hayne descended to this pitiful argu- 
ment ? 
Do we — 

Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him 

Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves ? 

Is it slavery and union, now and forever, one and in- 
separable ? Do you, who erected in imperishable granite the 
eternal monument of Nathan Dane, among the massive 
columns of your great argument, tell us now that natural 
conditions are to determine the question of slavery, and that 
an ordinance of freedom is an affront to the South, and that 
we must reenact the law of God ? Do you, who came to 
the side of Andrew Jackson in 1832, counsel that the lawful 
authority of this nation shall yield to threats of revolution 
and secession ? Is it from you that we hear no higher law ? 

It would have been fortunate for Mr. Webster's happiness 
and for his fame if he had died before 1850. But what 
would have been his fame and what would have been his 
happiness if his life could have been spared till 1865 ? He 
would have seen the transcendent issue on which the fate of 
the country hung made up as he had framed it in 1830. 
Union and liberty, the law of man and the law of God, the 
Constitution and natural justice, the august voice of patriot- 
ism and the august voices of the men who settled the country 
and of the men who framed the Constitution are all speaking 
on the same side. He would have lived to see the time for 
concession all gone by; the flag falling from Sumter's walls 
caught as it fell by the splendid youth of 1861; the armed 
hosts pressing upon the Capitol beaten back, everything 



9° GEORGE FRISBIE HOAR 

which he had loved, everything which he had worked for in 
the prime of his years and in the strength of his manhood, 
rallying upon one side — patriotism, national authority, law, 
conscience, duty, all speaking together and all speaking 
through his lips and repeating his maxims. He would have 
seen his great arguments in the reply to Hayne, in the 
debates with Calhoun, inspiring, guiding, commanding, 
strengthening. The judge in the court is citing them. The 
orator in the Senate is repeating them. The soldier by the 
camp-fire is meditating them. The Union cannon is shotted 
with them. They are flashing from the muzzle of the rifle. 
They are gleaming in the stroke of the saber. They are 
heard in the roar of the artillery. They shine on the 
advancing banner. They mingle with the shout of victory. 
They conquer in the surrender of Appomattox. They abide 
forever and forever in the returning reason of an estranged 
section and the returning loyalty of a united people. Oh, 
if he could but have lived — if he could but have lived, how 
the hearts of his countrymen would have come back to him! 
The bitterest enemy, the most austere judge, must grant 
to Daniel Webster a place with the great intellects of the 
world. He was among the greatest. Of all the men who 
have rendered great services to America and to the cause of 
constitutional liberty, there are but two or three names 
worthy to be placed by the side of his. Of all the lovers of 
his country, no man ever loved her with a greater love. In 
all the attributes of a mighty and splendid manhood he never 
had a superior on earth. Master of English speech, master 
of the loftiest emotions that stirred the hearts of his country- 
men, comprehending better than any other man save 
Marshall the principles of her Constitution, he is the one 
foremost figure in our history between the day when Wash- 
ington died and the day when Lincoln took the oath of 
office. 



THE WAR WITH AMERICA 91 



THE WAR WITH AMERICA 

By William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, Statesman. Born in Boconnoc, 
Cornwall, England, 1708; died in Hayes, Somerset, 1778. 

From a speech made in the House of Lords, November 18, 1777, on "An Address 
to the Throne Concerning Affairs in America." This was the great orator's last 
speech. See "British Orations," Vol. I, published in 1884 by G. P. Putnam's Sons 
New York, N. Y. 

I will not join in congratulation on misfortune and dis- 
grace. I cannot concur in a blind and servile address, which 
approves and endeavors to sanctify the monstrous measures 
which have heaped disgrace and misfortune upon us. This, 
my Lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment! It is not 
a time for adulation. The smoothness of flattery cannot 
now avail — cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. 
It is now necessary to instruct the Throne in the language 
of truth. We must dispel the illusion and the darkness 
which envelop it, and display, in its full danger and true 
colors, the ruin that is brought to our doors. 

Can the minister of the day now presume to expect a con- 
tinuance of support in this ruinous infatuation ? Can Parlia- 
ment be so dead to its dignity and its duty as to be thus 
deluded into the loss of the one and the violation of the 
other ? To give an unlimited credit and support for the 
steady perseverance in measures not proposed for our parlia- 
mentary advice, but dictated and forced upon us — in 
measures, I say, my Lords, which have reduced this late 
flourishing empire to ruin and contempt! " But yesterday, 
and England might have stood against the world : now none 
so poor to do her reverence. ' ' The desperate state of our 
arms abroad is in part known. No man thinks more highly 
of them than I do. I love and honor the English troops. 
I know their virtues and their valor. I know they can 
achieve anything except impossibilities; and I know that the 
conquest of English America is an impossibility. You cannot, 
I venture to say it, you cannot conquer America, Your 



92 HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN 

armies in the last war effected everything that could be 
effected ; and what was it ? It cost a numerous army, under 
the command of a most able general [Lord Amherst], now a 
noble Lord in this House, a long and laborious campaign, 
to expel five thousand Frenchmen from French America. 
My Lords, you cannot conquer America. What is your present 
situation there ? We do not know the worst ; but we know 
that in three campaigns we have done nothing and suffered 
much. As to conquest, therefore, my Lords, I repeat, it is 
impossible. You may swell every expense and every effort 
still more extravagantly; pile and accumulate every assistance 
you can buy or borrow; traffic and barter with every little 
pitiful German prince that sells and sends his subjects to the 
shambles of a foreign prince; your efforts are forever vain 
and impotent — doubly so from this mercenary aid on which 
you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the 
minds of your enemies, to overrun them with the mercenary 
sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their posses- 
sions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty! If I were an 
American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was 
landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms — 
never — never — never ! 

BRIER-ROSE 

By HjALMAR HjORTH Boyesen, Novelist, Professor. Born in Norway, 
1848; died in New York, 1895. 

From " Idyls of Norway and Other Poems," copyright, 1882, by Charles Scribner's 
Sons, New York. 

Said Brier-Rose's mother to the naughty Brier-Rose: 
"What will become of you, my child, there is nobody 

knows. 
You will not scrub the kettles, and you will not touch the 

broom ; 
You never sit a minute still at spinning-wheel or loom." 

Thus grumbled in the morning, and grumbled late at eve, 
The good wife, as she bustled with pot, and tray, and sieve; 



BRIER-ROSE 93 

But Brier-Rose, she laughed and she cocked her dainty head : 
" Why, I shall marry, mother dear," full merrily she said. 

' ' You marry, saucy Brier-Rose ! The man, he is not found 
To marry such a worthless maid, these seven leagues 

around." 
But Brier-Rose, she laughed, and she trilled a merry lay: 
" Perhaps he'll come, my mother dear, from seven/^w 

leagues away! " 

The goodwife, with a " humph! " and a sigh, forsook the 

battling, 
But threw her pots and pails about with much vindictive 

rattling. 
" Alas! what sin did I commit in youthful days and wild, 
That I am punished in my age with such a wayward child ? " 

Up stole the girl on tiptoe, so that none her step could hear, 
And, laughing, pressed an airy kiss behind the goodwife' s 

ear. 
And she, as e'er relenting, sighed: "Oh, Heaven only 

knows 
Whatever will become of you, my naughty Brier-Rose." 

Whene'er a thrifty matron this idle maid espied, 

She shook her head in warning, and scarce her wrath could 

hide ; 
For girls were made for housewives, for spinning-wheel and 

loom, 
And not to drink the sunshine and wild flower's perfume. . . 

Thus flew the years light-winged over Brier-Rose's head, 
Till she was twenty summers old, and yet remained unwed. 
And all the parish wondered: " If anybody knows, 
Whatever will become of that naughty Brier-Rose ? ' ' 

And while they wondered came the Spring a-dancing o'er 
the hills; 



94 HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN 

Her breath was warmer than of yore, and all the mountain 

rills 
With their tinkling, and their rippling, and their rushing 

filled the air, 
With the misty sounds of water forth-welling everywhere. 

It was a merry sight to see the lumber as it whirled 

Adown the tawny eddies, that hissed, and seethed, and 

swirled ; 
Now shooting through the rapids, and, with a reeling swing, 
Into the foam-crests diving like an animated thing. 

But in the narrows of the rocks, where o'er a steep incline 
The waters plunged, and wreathed in foam the dark boughs 

of the pine, 
The lads kept watch with shout and song, and sent each 

straggling beam 
A-spinning down the rapids, lest it should lock the stream. . . 

And yet — methinks I hear it now — wild voices in the night, 
A rush of feet, a dog's harsh bark, a torch's flaring light, 
And wandering gusts of dampness, and round us far and 

nigh, 
A throbbing boom of water like a pulse-beat in the sky. 

The dawn just pierced the pallid east with spears of gold 
and red, 

As we, with boat-hooks in our hands, toward the narrows- 
sped. 

And terror smote us : for we heard the mighty tree-tops sway, 

And thunder, as of chariots, and hissing showers of spray. 

"Now, lads," the sheriff shouted, "you are strong, like 

Norway's rock; 
A hundred crowns I give to him who breaks the lumber-lock! 
For if another hour go by, the angry waters' spoil 
Our homes will be, and fields, and our weary years of toil." 



BRIER-ROSE 95 

We looked each at the other; each hoped his neighbor would 
Brave death and danger for his home, as valiant Norsemen 

should. 
But at our feet the brawling tide expanded like a lake, 
And whirling beams came shooting on, and made the firm 

rock quake. 

"Two hundred crowns!" the sheriff cried, and breathless 

stood the crowd. 
' ' Two hundred crowns, my bonny lads ! " in anxious tones 

and loud. 
But not a man came forward, and no one spoke or stirred, 
And nothing save the thunder of the cataract was heard. 

But as with trembling hands, and with fainting hearts we 

stood, 
We spied a little curly head emerging from the wood. 
We heard a little snatch of a merry little song, 
And saw the dainty Brier-Rose come dancing through the 

throng. 

An angry murmur rose from the people round about. 

11 Fling her into the river! " we heard the matrons shout; 

"Chase her away, the silly thing; for God Himself scarce 

knows 
Why ever He created that worthless Brier-Rose." 

Sweet Brier-Rose, she heard their cries; a little pensive smile 
Across her fair face flitted that might a stone beguile; 
And then she gave her pretty head a roguish little cock : 
" Hand me a boat-hook, lads," she said; " I think I'll 
break the lock." 

Derisive shouts of laughter broke from throats of young and 

old; 
" Ho! good-for-nothing Brier-Rose, your tongue was ever 

bold." 



9^ HENRY WATTERSON 

And, mockingly, a boat-hook into her hand was flung, 
When, lo! into the river's midst, with daring leaps, she 
sprung ! 

We saw her dimly through a mist of dense and blinding 

spray; 
From beam to beam she skipped, like a water-sprite at play. 
And now and then faint gleams we caught of color through 

the mist, 
A crimson waist, a golden head, a little, dainty wrist. 

In terror pressed the people to the margin of the hill, 

A hundred breaths were bated, a hundred hearts stood still. 

For, hark ! from out the rapids came a strange and creaking 

sound, 
And then a crash of thunder, which shook the very ground. 

The waters hurled the lumber mass down o'er the rocky 

steep. 
We heard a muffled rumbling and a rolling in the deep; 
We saw a tiny form which the torrents swiftly bore 
And flung into the wild abyss, where it was seen no more. 

Ah, little naughty Brier-Rose, thou couldst not weave or 

spin; 
Yet thou couldst do a nobler deed than all thy mocking kin; 
For thou hadst courage e'en to die, and by thy death to save 
A thousand farms and lives from the fury of the wave. 

"LET US HAVE PEACE" 

By Henry Watterson, Journalist, Author; Member of Congress from 
Kentucky, 1876-77. Born Washington, D. C., 1840. 
From a speech before the Society of the Army of Tennessee, Oct. 9, 1891. 

The war is over, and it is well over. God reigns, and the 
Government at Washington still lives. I am glad of that. 
I can conceive nothing worse for ourselves, nothing worse 
for our children, than what might have been if the war had 
ended otherwise, leaving two exhausted combatants, to 



"LET US HAVE PIECE" 97 

become the prey of foreign intervention and diplomacy, 
setting the clock of civilization back a century, and splitting 
the noblest of the continents into five or six weak and warring 
Republics, like those of South America, to repeat in the New 
World the mistakes of the Old. 

The war is over, truly; and, let me repeat, it is well over. 
If anything were wanting to proclaim its termination from 
every house-top and door-post in the land, that little brush 
we had last spring with Signor Macaroni furnished it. As 
to the touch of an electric bell, the whole people rallied to 
the brave words of the Secretary of State, and, for the 
moment, sections and parties sunk out of sight and thought 
in one overmastering sentiment of racehood, manhood, and 
nationality. . . . 

I came, primarily, to bow my head and to pay my measure 
of homage to the statue that was unveiled to-day. The 
career and the name which that statue commemorates belong 
to me no less than to you. When I followed him to the 
grave — proud to appear in the obsequies, though as the 
obscurest of those who bore an official part therein — I felt 
that I was helping to bury not only a great man, but a true 
friend. From that day to this the story of the life and death 
of General Grant has more and more impressed and touched 
me. . . . 

He was the embodiment of simplicity, integrity, and 
courage; every inch a general, a soldier, and a man; but in 
the circumstances of his last illness, a figure of heroic pro- 
portions for the contemplation of the ages. I recall nothing 
in history so sublime as the spectacle of that brave spirit, 
broken in fortune and in health, with the dread hand of the 
dark angel clutched about his throat, struggling with every 
breath to hold the clumsy, unfamiliar weapon with which 
he sought to wrest from the jaws of death something for the 
support of wife and children when he was gone! If he had 
done nothing else, that would have made his exit from the 
world an epic! 



98 WILLIAM DE WITT HYDE 

A little while after I came to my home from the last scene 
of all, I found that a woman's hand had collected the 
insignia I had worn in the magnificent, melancholy pageant 
— the orders assigning me to duty and the funeral scarfs and 
badges — and had grouped and framed them; unbidden, 
silently, tenderly; and when I reflected that the hands that 
did this were those of a loving Southern woman, whose father 
had fallen on the Confederate side in the battle, I said: 
" The war indeed is over; let us have peace! " Gentlemen; 
soldiers; comrades; the silken folds that twine about us 
here, for all their soft and careless grace, are yet as strong 
as hooks of steel ! They hold together a united people and 
a great nation; for, realizing the truth at last — with no 
wounds to be healed and no stings of defeat to remember — 
the South says to the North, as simply and as truly as was 
said three thousand years ago in the far-away meadow upon 
the shores of the mystic sea: " Whither thou goest, I will 
go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall 
be my people, and thy God my God." 

THE MISSION OF THE PUBLIC SCHOOL 

By William De Witt Hyde, Clergyman, Author, Educator; President 
of Bowdoin College, 1885 — . Born at Winchendon, Mass., 1859. 
Taken from an article in The Educational Review for October, 1896. 

What is it that, as taxpayers, as parents, as members of 
school boards, as teachers, we are trying to do for the 
children and youth committed to our charge? . . . 

Do we support the public school for the sake of training 
intelligent voters ? Why, half the scholars in these public 
schools, unless there shall be a constitutional amendment 
enlarging the basis of suffrage, will never vote at all. And 
then do we pretend that Latin and French, and physics and 
chemistry, and the twenty or thirty branches taught in the 
high school are necessary to fit a boy to cast an intelligent 
vote ? We have long since left this motive far behind in the 
liberality of our provision for public instruction. The 



THE MISSION OF THE PUBLIC SCHOOL 99 

political motive is not large enough to explain our devotion 
to our public schools. 

Do we then support the public schools in order that the 
children may be trained to earn their own living, and thus 
not become burdens upon the charity of the State ? We fre- 
quently hear that motive assigned. But we all know 
perfectly well that not half the subjects taught in our public 
schools have any direct bearing on the ability of the boys and 
girls to earn a livelihood. We have gone far beyond the 
industrial ideal of public education. 

Let me try once more. Do we support the public schools 
because we wish that these children, who are to be our 
neighbors and fellow citizens, shall be intelligent, self- 
respecting, public-spirited neighbors and citizens; that they 
shall be good husbands and thrifty wives; that they shall be 
wise fathers and mothers; that they shall be interested in 
what is noble and pure; enthusiastic in support of what is 
generous and just; that their homes shall ring with healthful 
laughter and happy song; that their work shall be wrought 
in integrity and their recreation shall be healthful and uplift- 
ing ? Is anything less than this the ideal we really cherish ? 
Will anything lower or narrower justify the splendid efforts 
we are making for public education ? . . . 

Without our knowing it, the social ideal of an intelligent, 
full, free, happy, human life for every boy and girl born or 
brought into our midst has gained possession of our minds 
and hearts. . . . 

This world in which we live is established through wisdom; 
founded on truth; governed by law; clothed in beauty; 
crowned with beneficence. The business of the school is to 
open the mind to understand that perfect wisdom; to appre- 
ciate that wondrous truth; to respect that universal law; to 
admire that radiant beauty; to praise that infinite benefi- 
cence. 

Humanity, of which we are members, has brought forth 
great men and glorious deeds; it has formed languages and 

LofC. 



100 WILLIAM DE WITT HYDE 

reared civilizations; it has expressed its ideals and aspirations 
on canvas and in stone; it has uttered its joys and sorrows, 
its hopes and fears, in music and poetry. The province of 
the school is to interpret to the scholar these glorious deeds 
of noble men ; to open to him the languages and civilizations 
of the past; to make him share the pure ideals and lofty 
aims of artist and architect; to introduce him to the larger 
world of letters and the higher realms of song. 

Nothing lower than this interpretation of nature and 
humanity to man can be accepted as the end of education. 
To make one at home in the world, and friends with all 
which it contains, is the object of the school. . . . 

The public school is the institution which says that the 
poor boy, though he may eat coarser food, and wear a 
shabbier coat, and dwell in a smaller house, and work earlier 
and later and harder than his rich companion, still shall have 
his eyes trained to behold the same glory in the heavens and 
the same beauty in the earth; shall have his mind developed 
to appreciate the same sweetness in music and the same 
loveliness in art; shall have his heart opened to enjoy the 
same literary treasures and the same philosophic truths; shall 
have his soul stirred by the same social influences and the 
same spiritual ideals as the children of his wealthier 
neighbors. 

The socialism of wealth, the equalization of material con- 
ditions, is at present an idle dream, a contradictory concep- 
tion, toward which society can take, no doubt, a few 
faltering steps, but which no mechanical invention or con- 
stitutional device can hope to realize in our day. The 
socialism of the intellect, the offering to all of the true 
riches of an enlightened mind and a heart that is trained to 
love the true, the beautiful, and the good — this is a possi- 
bility for the children of every workingman; and the public 
school is the channel through which this common fund of 
intellectual and spiritual wealth is freely distributed alike to 
rich and poor. 



THE SECRET OF LINCOLN'S POWER iol 

Here native and foreign born should meet to learn the 
common language and to cherish the common history and 
traditions of our country; here the son of the rich man 
should learn to respect the dignity of manual labor, and the 
daughter of the poor man should learn how to adorn and 
beautify her future humble home. Here all classes and 
conditions of men should meet together and form those 
bonds of fellowship, ties of sympathy, and community of 
interest and identity of aim which will render them superior 
to all the divisive forces of sectarian religion, or partisan 
politics, or industrial antagonisms; and make them all con- 
tented adherents, strong supporters, firm defenders of that 
social order which must rest upon the intelligence, the 
sympathy, the fellowship, the unity of its constituent mem- 
bers. 



THE SECRET OF LINCOLN'S POWER 

By Henry Watterson, Journalist, Author; Member of Congress from 
Kentucky, 1876-77; Editor of Louisville Courier- J ournal, 1868 — . 
Born in Washington, D. C, 1840. 

From an address delivered at Chicago, 111., Feb. 12, 1895. 

What was Lincoln's mysterious power, and whence ? 

His was the genius of common sense; of common sense 
in action; of common sense in thought; of common sense 
enriched by experience and unhindered by fear. Inspired, 
he was truly, as Shakespeare was inspired; as Mozart was 
inspired; as Burns was inspired; each, like him, sprung 
directly from the people. 

I look into the crystal globe that, slowly turning, reveals 
the story of his life, and I see a little heart-broken boy, 
weeping by the outstretched form of a dead mother, then 
bravely, nobly trudging a hundred miles to obtain her 
Christian burial. I see this motherless lad growing to man- 
hood amid scenes that seem to lead to nothing but abase- 
ment; no teachers; no books; no chart, except his own 



102 HENRY IVATTERSON 

untutored mind; no compass, except his own undisciplined 
will; no light, save light from Heaven; yet, like the caravel 
of Columbus, struggling on and on through the trough of 
the sea, always toward the destined land. I see the full- 
grown man, stalwart and brave, an athlete in activity of 
movement and strength of limb, yet vexed by weird dreams 
and visions; of life, of love, of religion, sometimes verging 
on despair. I see the mind, grown as robust as the body, 
throw off these phantoms of the imagination and give itself 
to the practical uses of this work-a-day world; the rearing 
of children ; the earning of bread ; the cumulous duties of 
the husband, the father, and the citizen. I see the party 
leader, self-confident in conscious rectitude; original, be- 
cause it was not his nature to follow; potent, because he 
was fearless, pursuing his convictions with earnest zeal, and 
urging them upon his fellows with the resources of an oratory 
which was hardly more impressive than it was many-sided. 
I see him, the preferred among his fellows, ascend to the 
eminence ordained for him, and him alone among the states- 
men of the time, amid the derision of opponents and the 
distrust of supporters, yet unawed and unmoved, because 
thoroughly equipped to meet the emergency. The same 
being, from first to last; the little boy weeping over a dead 
mother; the great chief sobbing amid the cruel horrors of 
war; flinching not from duty, nor changing his lifelong 
ways of dealing with the stern realities which pressed upon 
him and hurried him forward. And, last scene of all that 
ends this strange, eventful history, I see him lying dead there 
in the capitol of the nation, to which he had rendered " the 
last, full measure of his devotion," the flag of his country 
wrapped about him, and the world in mourning at his feet. 
Surely, he was one of God's elect; not in any sense a creat- 
ure of circumstance, or accident, or chance. 

The inspired are few. Whence their emanation, where 
and how they got their power, by what rule they lived, moved 
and had their being, we know not. There is no explication 



THE FOOL'S PRAYER 103 

to their lives. They rose from shadow and they went in mist. 
We see them, feel them, but we know them not. They 
came, God's word upon their lips; they did their office, God's 
mantle about them; and they vanished, God's holy light 
between the world and them ; leaving behind a memory, half 
mortal and half myth. From first to last they were the 
creations of some special Providence. 

Tried by this standard, where shall we find an illustration 
more impressive than Abraham Lincoln, whose career might 
be chanted by a Greek chorus as at once the prelude and the 
epilogue of the most imperial theme of modern times ? . . . 

Where did Shakespeare get his genius ? Where did Mozart 
get his music ? Whose hand smote the lyre of the Scottish 
plowman, and stayed the life of the German priest ? God, 
God, and God alone; and as surely as these were raised up 
by God, inspired by God, was Abraham Lincoln; and a 
thousand years hence, no story, no tragedy, no epic poem 
will be filled with greater wonder, or be followed by mankind 
with deeper feeling, than that which tells of his life and 
death. 



THE FOOL'S PRAYER 

By Edward Rowland Sill, Poet, Professor, Editor. Born in Wind- 
sor, Conn., 1841; died in Cleveland, Ohio, 1887. 

Reprinted, by special arrangement with and permission of the publishers, from 
"Poems by Edward Rowland Sill," copyright, 1887, by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 
Boston. 

The royal feast was done; the King 
Sought some new sport to banish care, 
And to his jester cried: " Sir Fool, 
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer! " 



The jester doffed his cap and bells 
And stood the mocking court before; 
They could not see the bitter smile 
Behind the painted grin he wore. 



104 EDWARD ROWLAND SILL 

He bowed his head, and bent his knee 
Upon the monarch's silken stool; 
His pleading voice arose : " O Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool ! 

" No pity, Lord, could change the heart 
From red with wrong to white as wool ; 
The rod must heal the sin : but, Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool. 

" 'Tis not by guilt the onward sweep 
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay ; 
'Tis by our follies that so long 
We hold the earth from heaven away. 

" These clumsy feet, still in the mire, 
Go crushing blossoms without end ; 
These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust 
Among the heart-strings of a friend. 

" The ill-timed truth we might have kept — 
Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung ? 
The word we had not sense to say — 
Who knows how grandly it had rung ? 

" Our faults no tenderness should ask, 
The chastening stripes must cleanse them all 
But for our blunders — oh, in shame 
Before the eyes of heaven we fall. 

" Earth bears no balsam for mistakes; 
Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool 
That did his will ; but Thou, O Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool! " 

The room was hushed; in silence rose 
The King, and sought his gardens cool, 
And walked apart, and murmured low, 
" Be merciful to me, a fool ! " 



THE MAN WHO WEARS THE BUTTON 105 



THE MAN WHO WEARS THE BUTTON 

By John Mellen Thurston, Lawyer; Senator from Nebraska, 1895 — . 

Born at Montpelier, Vt., 1847. 

From an address at a banquet of the Michigan Club of Detroit, February 21, 1890. 

Sometimes in passing along the street I meet a man who, 
in the left lapel of his coat, wears a little, plain, modest, 
unassuming bronze button. The coat is often old and rusty; 
the face above it seamed and furrowed by the toil and suffer- 
ing of adverse years; perhaps beside it hangs an empty sleeve, 
and below it stumps a wooden peg. But when I meet the 
man who wears that button I doff my hat and stand 
uncovered in his presence — yea! to me the very dust his 
weary foot has pressed is holy ground, for I know that man, 
in the dark hour of the nation's peril, bared his breast to 
the hell of battle to keep the flag of our country in the Union 
sky. 

Maybe at Donaldson he reached the inner trench; at 
Shiloh held the broken line; at Chattanooga climbed the 
flame-swept hill, or stormed the clouds on Lookout Heights. 
He was not born or bred to soldier life. His country's 
summons called him from the plow, the forge, the bench, 
the loom, the mine, the store, the office, the college, the 
sanctuary. He did not fight for greed of gold, to find 
adventure, or to win renown. He loved the peace of quiet 
ways, and yet he broke the clasp of clinging arms, turned 
from the witching glance of tender eyes, left good-by kisses 
upon tiny lips to look death in the face on desperate fields. 

And when the war was over he quietly took up the broken 
threads of love and life as best he could, a better citizen for 
having been so good a soldier. 

What mighty men have worn this same bronze button! 
Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Logan, and an hundred more, 
whose names are written on the title-page of deathless fame. 
Their glorious victories are known of men; the history of 



io6 DANIEL WEBSTER 

their country gives them voice; the white light of publicity 
illuminates them for every eye. But there are thousands 
who, in humbler way, no less deserve applause. How many 
knightliest acts of chivalry were never seen beyond the line 
or heard of above the roar of battle. 

God bless the men who wore the button! They pinned 
the stars of Union in the azure of our flag with bayonets, and 
made atonement for a nation's sin in blood. They took the 
negro from the auction-block and at the altar of emancipa- 
tion crowned him — citizen. They supplemented " Yankee 
Doodle" with "Glory Hallelujah," and Yorktown with 
Appomatox. Their powder woke the morn of universal 
freedom and made the name "American" first in all the 
earth. To us their memory is an inspiration and to the 
future it is hope. 

LIBERTY AND UNION 

By Daniel Webster, Lawyer, Statesman ; Member of Congress from 
New Hampshire, 1813-17; from Massachusetts, 1823-27; Senator 
from Massachusetts, 1827-41, 1845-50; Secretary of State, 1841-43. 
Born in Salisbury, N. H., 1782; died in Marshfield, Mass., 1852. 

From " The Second Speech on Foot's Resolution," delivered in the Senate, January 
26, 1830. See " The Works of Daniel Webster," Vol. Ill, published by Little, Brown 
& Co., Boston, Mass. 

I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily 
in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and 
the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union 
we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and 
dignity abroad. It is to that Union that we are chiefly 
indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. 
That Union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues 
in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the 
necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and 
ruined credit. Under its benign influences these great 
interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang 
forth with newness of life, Every year of its duration has 



LIBERTY AND UNION 107 

teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings; and 
although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, 
and our population spread farther and farther, they have not 
outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a 
copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. 

I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, 
to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I 
have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty 
when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken 
asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the 
precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, 
I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could I 
regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this govern- 
ment, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, 
not how the Union may be best preserved, but how tolerable 
might be the condition of the people when it should be 
broken up and destroyed. 

While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying 
prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. 
Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant 
that, in my day at least, that curtain may not rise! God 
grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind ! 
When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, 
the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken 
and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on 
States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent 
with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! 
Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the 
gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now known and honored 
throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and 
trophies streaming in their original luster, not a stripe erased 
or polluted, nor a single star obscured, bearing for its motto 
no such miserable interrogatory as "What is all this 
worth ? ' ' Nor those other words of delusion and folly, 
"Liberty first, and Union afterward;" but everywhere, 
spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its 



108 THOMAS NELSON PAGE 

ample folds as they float over the sea and over the land, and 
in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment 
dear to every true American heart — Liberty and Union, now 
and forever, one and inseparable! 

THE SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE 

(Abridged.) 

By Thomas Nelson Page, Lawyer, Poet, Story-writer. Born in Oak- 
land, Va., 1853. 

Taken, by permission of the publishers, from " Elsket and Other Stories," copyright ) 
1891, by Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. 

It was his greatest pride in life that he had been a soldier 
— a soldier of the empire. He was known simply as ' ' The 
Soldier," and it is probable there was not a man, and certain 
that there was not a child in the Quarter who did not know 
the tall, erect old Sergeant with his white mustache, and 
his face seamed with two saber cuts. 

Yes, they all knew him, and knew how, when he was not 
over thirteen, he had received the cross which he always wore 
over his heart, sewed in the breast of his coat, from the hand 
of the emperor himself. He was " the Sergeant," a soldier 
of the empire, and there was not a dog in the Quarter which 
did not feel and look proud when it could trot on the inside 
of the sidewalk by him. 

Pierre, his son, was not popular in the Quarter. He was 
nineteen years old when war was declared with Prussia. All 
Paris was in an uproar. Of all the residents of the Quarter, 
none took a deeper interest than the soldier of the empire. 

The war began in earnest. The troops were sent to the 
front, the crowds shouting " On to Berlin." Nearly all the 
young men had enlisted and gone. Pierre, however, still 
remained behind. 

Suddenly the levy came. Pierre was conscripted. 

That night the Sergeant enlisted in the same company. 

The day they were mustered in, the captain of the com- 



THE SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE 109 

pany sent for him and bade him have the first sergeant's 
chevrons sewed on his sleeve. 

The army lay still and no battles were fought, Thus it 
was for several weeks, but at last one evening, it was 
apparent that some change was at hand, and the army stirred. 
It was high time. The Prussians were almost on them, and 
had them in a trap. At length they marched. 

The Sergeant saw once more the field of glory and heard 
again the shout of victory; he beheld the tricolor floating 
over the capitol of the enemies of France. Perhaps it would 
be planted there by Pierre — Ha! France would ring with 
Pierre's name; the Quarter should go wild with delight. 

Just then the skirmishers ahead began to fire, and in a few 
moments it was answered by a sullen note from the villages 
beyond the plain, and the battle had begun. The fire was 
terrific. 

Suddenly an officer galloped up, and spoke to the lieuten- 
ant of the nearest battery. 

" Where's the colonel ? " 

"Killed." 

" Where's your captain ? " 

" Dead there under the gun." 

' ' Are you in command ? ' ' 

*' I suppose so." 

"Well, hold this hill." 

"How long?" 

" Forever." And he galloped off. 

His voice was heard clear and ringing in a sudden lull, 
and the old Sergeant, clutching his musket, shouted : 

" We will, forever." 

There was a momentary lull. 

Suddenly the cry was: 

" Here they are." 

In an instant a dark line of men appeared coming up the 
slope. The Lieutenant of the company, looking along the 
line, called the Sergeant, and ordered him to go back down 



no THOMAS NELSON PAGE 

the hill and tell the General to send them a support instantly 
or they could not hold the hill much longer. He delivered 
his message. 

" Go back and tell him he must hold it," was the reply. 
" Upon it depends the fate of France. Hold it for France!" 
he called after him. 

The words were heard perfectly clear even above the din 
of battle which was steadily increasing all along the line, and 
they stirred the old soldier like a trumpet. He pushed back 
up the hill with a run. In his ears rang the words — ''''For 
France ! ' ' They came like an echo from the past ; it was the 
same cry he had heard at Waterloo. "For France/" — the 
words were consecrated ; the emperor himself had used them. 
Was it not glorious to die for France! 

With these thoughts was mingled the thought of Pierre — 
Pierre also would die for France. The smoke hid everything. 
Just then it shifted a little. As it did so, he saw a man in 
the uniform of his regiment steal out of the dim line, and 
start towards him at a run. His cap was pulled over his 
eyes, and he saw him deliberately fling away his gun. He 
was skulking. All the blood boiled up in the old soldier's 
veins. Desert — not fight for France ! Why did not Pierre 
shoot him ! Just then the coward passed close to him and 
the old man seized him with a grip of iron. The deserter, 
surprised, turned his face; it was pallid with terror and 
shame; but no more so than his captor's. 

"Pierre!" he gasped. "Good God! where are you 
going ? ' ' 

"lam sick, ' ' faltered the other. 

" Come back," said the father sternly. 

' ' I cannot, ' ' was the terrified answer. 

" It is for France, Pierre, " pleaded the old soldier pitifully. 
There was a pause. ' ' Then, dastard ! ' ' hissed the father, 
flinging his son from him with indescribable scorn. 

Pierre, free once more, was slinking off with averted face, 
when a new idea seized the other, and his face grew grim as 



THE SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE HI 

stone. Cocking his musket, he took careful and deliberate 
aim at his son's retreating figure and brought his ringer slowly 
down upon the trigger. But, before he could fire, a shell 
exploded directly in the line of his aim, and when the smoke 
blew off Pierre had disappeared. The coward had in the 
very act of flight met the death he dreaded. The counte- 
nance of the living man was more pallid than that of the 
dead. No word escaped him, except that refrain, " For 
France, for France! " 

The fierce onslaught of the Prussians had broken the line 
somewhere beyond the batteries, and the French were being 
borne back. All order was lost. It was a rout. The 
soldiers of his own regiment began to rush by the spot where 
the old Sergeant stood above his son's body. They 
attempted to hurry him along, but raising his voice so that 
he was heard even above the tumult of the rout, he shouted, 

" Are ye all cowards ? Rally for France — for France!" 

They tried to bear him along; it was no use; still he 
shouted that rallying cry, " For France, for France I Vive la 
France! Vive VEmpereur i '" and steadied by the war-cry, 
accustomed to obey an officer, the men around him fell 
instinctively into something like order, and for an instant the 
rout was arrested. The fight was renewed over Pierre's dead 
body, but the Prussians were too strong for them, they were 
soon surrounded. There was no thought of quarter; none 
was asked, none was given. Cries, cheers, shouts, blows 
were mingled together, and clear above all rang the old 
soldier's war-cry, "For France, for France! Vive la France! 
Vive V Empereur ! " It was the refrain from an older and 
bloodier field. He thought he was at Waterloo. Mad with 
excitement, the men took up the cry and fought like tigers, 
but the issue could not be doubtful. 

Man after man fell with the cry "For France / " on his lips, 
and his comrades, standing astride his body, fought till they 
too fell. Almost the last one was the old Sergeant. 

It was best, for France was lost. 



H2 HENRY WARD BEECH ER 

That night a group of Prussian officers going over the field 
with lanterns looking after their wounded, stopped near the 
spot where the old Sergeant had made his last stand for 
France. 

"It was just here," said one, "that they made that 
splendid rally." 

A second, looking at the body of an old French Sergeant, 
said simply: 

" There died a brave soldier." 

Another, stooping to examine the broken cross of the 
Legion on the dead man's breast, said reverently: 

" He was a soldier of the empire." 



OUR NATIONAL FLAG 

By Henry Ward Beecher, Clergyman, Editor, Author; Pastor of 
Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, N. Y., 1847-87. Born in Litchfield, 
Conn., 1813; died in Brooklyn, 1887. 

From a sermon delivered to two companies of the " Brooklyn Fourteenth," many of 
them members of the Plymouth Church. Taken, by permission of the publishers, from 
" Patriotic Addresses " by H. W. Beecher, published by Fords, Howard & Hulbert, 
New York. 

A thoughtful mind, when it sees a nation's flag, sees not 
the flag only, but the nation itself. And whatever may be 
its symbol, its insignia, he reads chiefly in the flag the 
government, the principles, the truths, the history, that 
belong to the nation that sets it forth. When the French 
tricolor rolls out to the wind, we see France. When the 
new-found Italian flag is unfurled, we see resurrected Italy. 
When the other three-colored Hungarian flag shall be lifted 
to the wind, we shall see in it the long buried, but never 
dead, principles of Hungarian liberty. When the united 
crosses of St. Andrew and St. George, on a fiery ground, set 
forth the banner of old England, we see not the cloth merely: 
there rises up before the mind the idea of that great 
monarchy. 

This nation has a banner, too. Not another flag on the 



OUR NATIONAL FLAG 113 

globe has such an errand, or goes forth upon the sea carrying 
everywhere, the world around, such hope to the captive, and 
such glorious tidings. The stars upon it were to the pining 
nations like the bright morning stars of God, and the stripes 
upon it were beams of morning light. As at early dawn the 
stars shine forth even while it grows light, and then as the 
sun advances that light breaks into banks and streaming lines 
of color, the glowing red and intense white striving together, 
and ribbing the horizon with bars effulgent, so, on the 
American flag, stars and beams of many-colored light shine 
out together. And wherever this flag comes, and men behold 
it, they see in its sacred emblazonry no rampant lion, and 
no fierce eagle; no embattled castles, or insignia of imperial 
authority; they see the symbols of light. It is the banner 
of Dawn. It means Liberty; and the galley-slave, the poor, 
oppressed conscript, the trodden-down creature of foreign 
despotism, sees in the American flag that very promise and 
prediction of God, — " The people which sat in the darkness 
saw a great light ; and to them which sat in the region and 
shadow of death light is sprung up." 

If one, then, asks me the meaning of our flag, I say to 
him, it means just what Concord and Lexington meant, what 
Bunker Hill meant; it means the whole glorious Revolu- 
tionary War, which was, in short, the rising up of a valiant 
young people against an old tyranny, to establish the most 
momentous doctrine that the world had ever known, or has 
since known — the right of men to their own selves and to 
their liberties. 

Our flag means, then, all that our fathers meant in the 
Revolutionary War; it means all that the Declaration of 
Independence meant; it means all that the Constitution of 
our people, organizing for justice, for liberty, and for happi- 
ness, meant. Our flag carries American ideas, American 
history, and American feelings. Beginning with the 
Colonies, and coming down to our time, in its sacred 
heraldry, in its glorious insignia, it has gathered and stored 



H4 CHARLES E. L1TTLEFIELD 

chiefly this supreme idea: Divine right of liberty in man. 
Every color means liberty; every form of star and beam or 
stripe of light means liberty; not lawlessness, not license; 
but organized, institutional liberty — liberty through law, and 
laws for liberty! 

OUR PLEDGE TO PUERTO RICO 

By Charles E. Littlefield, Lawyer; Attorney-General of State of 
Maine, 1889-93 ; Member of Congress from Maine, 1899 — . Born in 
Lebanon, Me., 185 1. 

From a speech delivered in the House of Representatives, February 23, 1900; the 
House having under consideration the bill to regulate the trade of Puerto Rico. See 
Congressional Record, Feb. 23, 1900. 

In 1898 the army of the United States, in a war declared 
in the interest of humanity, and upon the proposition that 
the old flag would carry with it liberty and freedom and 
equal opportunity and all the blessings of a Christian civil- 
ization, went where ? It went to the island of Puerto Rico, 
and Major-General Miles held the standard. In the procla- 
mation with which General Miles signalized his advent upon 
Puerto Rican soil, he said: " We come bearing the banner 
of freedom, inspired by a noble purpose, to seek the enemies 
of our country and yours, and to destroy or capture all who 
are in armed resistance. We bring you the fostering arm of 
a nation of free people, whose greatest power is in its justice 
and humanity to all those living withi7i its fold. We have not 
come to make war upon the people of a country that for 
centuries has been oppressed, but, on the contrary, to bring 
you protection, not only to yourselves but to your property, 
to promote your prosperity, and to bestow upon you the 
immunities and blessings of the liberal institutions of our 
government. ' ' 

Relying upon this proclamation these people did what ? 

They prostrated themselves before him ; they covered him 
with wreaths and garlands of flowers; they kissed the flag 
that was carried there under that promise, and the delegates 



OUP PLEDGE TO PUERTO PICO * 1 $ 

from Puerto Rico stand here, asking the Republican party 
to make good the promise made by General Miles for the 
Republic, when they eagerly delivered "The Ever-Faithful 
Isle " into his all-conquering hands. Miles, the magnificent 
representative of our institutions, the typical American 
citizen, who won his way, by sheer force of merit, ability, 
and valor, from the position of a common soldier, step 
by step, to the position of leader of the Armies of the 
Republic. 

I never will vote to violate the promise he made or to 
repudiate the pledge. The Republic cannot afford, in this 
or any other campaign, to violate that sacred promise. It 
is written in the blood of our heroes that fought at El Caney, 
San Juan, and Santiago. It was made in the presence of all 
Christendom, and it is sealed by the God of battles. The 
Republic cannot violate that promise made to this weak and 
helpless people, without sullying its honor and tarnishing 
its fame. . . . Why, gentlemen here say that we are about 
to inaugurate a policy of colonial government. I want to ask 
the gentlemen in this House if they desire to signalize their 
entry upon a colonial government, in their very first act, by a 
breach of good faith. Do you remember the history of proud 
Spain ? What is it ? What is it that has characterized Spain 
ever since the sixteenth century, ever since Pizzarro rode 
ruthless and roughshod over Mexico, and the Duke of Alva 
filled the Netherlands with carnage, blood, butcheries, and 
indescribalbe horrors, in his infamous attempt to crush out 
the very beginning of civil and religious liberty ? What is it 
that has characterized her and made her contemptible before 
every honorable nation upon the earth ? It is her duplicity 
and her breaches of good faith. 

Puerto Rico kneels to-day, weak, helpless, starving, with 
her hands held toward us in supplication. She pleads for 
the fulfillment of this promise. Her prayers may fall upon 
deaf ears, that will not hear in this House, but there is one 
tribunal to which I fully believe they may confidently appeal 



n6 HENRY WARD BEECHER 

— the enlightened, unselfish, Christian conscience of a great 
and free people. 

We hear a great deal in these days about the glory of the 
Republic, the grandeur of its institutions, its unparalleled 
civilization. May the action of the House worthily ex- 
emplify these lofty sentiments. Then may our flag float over 
the whole Republic, in the Occident as well as the Orient, 
over the Pearl of the Antilles, and the Thousand Islands 
near far-off Cathay, upon land and sea, over schoolhouse and 
church, the emblem of our integrity and good faith, of liberty 
and freedom, of the inestimable blessings of a Christian 
civilization. Thus, and only thus, will it be and ever 
remain, by the blessing and favor of Almighty God, the un- 
sullied and untarnished symbol of our honor, our glory, and 
our splendor. 

HORACE GREELEY 

By Henry Ward Beecher, Clergyman, Editor, Author; Pastor of 
Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, N. Y., 1847-87. Born in Litchfield, 
Conn., 1813; died in Brooklyn, 1887. 

Spoken at the funeral of Horace Greeley, November, 1872. 

There is no one that dies whose death is not momentous, 
if we but behold it as God's angels do. Every day hundreds 
and hundreds are borne through your streets and laid away 
to sleep in yonder Greenwood, leaving behind them sorrow 
and tears, and many reverent thoughts ; yet no one, I think, 
has gone bearing with him so many sympathies, so much 
kindness, so many tender recollections, as he who lies before 
you. 

Who is this man, bearing upon him all the civic honors 
that the land could give him ? Who is this man ? One 
whose wealth has made him a prince in benevolence ? He 
was not rich in living, nor in dying rich. Who is this man ? 
Some one gifted with all kindness of heart, and singular tact 
of administration, that should make every one his friend who 
came near him ? But he was a man of war, who for thirty 



HORACE GREELEY 117 

years has filled the land with the racket of various controver- 
sies; and yet to-day, without office, without title, without 
place except that of the humblest citizen, the Government 
itself stands still, and the honored representative and Chief 
Magistrate of this great people is here to bow his head in 
unfeigned sympathy. Here are men who have scarcely yet 
laid down the bow from which the last arrow has been shot 
— all gathered in genuine sympathy around about this man 
who can speak no more, walk in our presence no more, but 
has gone out from us forever. 

Is it that death has made us forget all our differences ? 
We have not forgotten them. We differ to-day as much in 
theory, as much in philosophy, in the best methods of policy, 
as we did a month ago. A month ago the whole land was 
full of clamor. A little while ago men were in fierce battle. 
There has been no change in it; and yet he who was the 
chief mark on one side lies before you ; and you press around 
him in tears to-day to do him reverence. It is because the 
man is more than a professional man; not the candidate, 
not the editor. The man that lay under them all is honored 
and honorable. And when the conflicts of life intermit for 
a moment, and you can look into that which belongs to your 
essential manhood, you do revere him and love him. And 
you are brought together to express here your honor and 
your reverence for Horace Greeley. 

For thirty years he has builded for himself no outward 
monument, no long line of literary efforts, no mansion, no 
estate; but for thirty years that heart that meant well by 
every human being has been beating, beating, and giving 
some drops of its blood to countless multitudes, until 
to-day, between the two oceans, there is hardly an intelligent 
man or child that does not feel the influence of the life of 
Horace Greeley. 

And now what matters it, in your present thought, that 
in the party divisions of life he was on one side and you were 
on the other ? Horace Greeley gave the strength of his life 



1x8 ROBERT BROIVN1NG 

to education, to honest industry, to humanity, especially 
toward the poor and the unfriended. He was feet for the 
lame; he was tongue for the dumb; he was an eye for the 
blind; and had a heart for those who had none to sympathize 
with them. His nature longed for more love than it had, 
and more sympathy than was ever administered to it. The 
great heart working through life fell at last. It had been 
for intelligence, for industry, for an honester life and a 
nobler manhood; and his deeds will be known and felt to 
the latest generations in our land. He has been a national 
benefactor; and to-day we are all speaking kindly of him — 
sorrowfully. 

Oh ! men, is there nothing for you to do — you who with 
uplifted hands a few short weeks ago were doing such battle ? 
Think of those conflicts, in which you forgot charity, kind- 
liness, goodness ! What do you think of them now ? Look 
here at all that remains of this man. Did you not magnify 
the differences ? It is not enough that you should mourn 
with those that mourn. Carry back with you a kinder and 
chastened feeling. 

At last, at last! he rests as one that has been driven 
through a long voyage by storms that would not abate, but 
reaches the shore and stands upon the firm earth; sees again 
the shady trees, and the green fields, and the beaming sun. 
So he, through a long and not untempestuous voyage, has 
reached the shore and is at rest. How blessed are the dead 
that die in the Lord! 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 

By Robert Browning, Poet. Born in Camberwell, England, 1812; 
died in Venice, Italy, 1889. 

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon : 

A mile or so away 
On a little mound, Napoleon 

Stood on our storming-day; 






INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 119 

With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms locked behind, 
As if to balance the prone brow 

Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall, 
Let once my army-leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall, " — 
Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew 

Until he reached the mound. 

Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy: 

You hardly could suspect — 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through) 
You looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 

*' Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace 

We've got you Ratisbon ! 
The Marshal's in the market-place, 

And you'll be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire, 
Perched him! " The chief's eye flashed; his plans 

Soared up again like fire. 

The chief's eye flashed; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother-eagle's eye 

When her bruised eaglet breathes; 



T20 LYDIA MARIA CHILD 

" You're wounded! " — " Nay," the soldier's pride 

Touched to the quick, he said : 
"I'm killed, Sire! " And his chief beside, 

Smiling, the boy fell dead. 



SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JAMES OTIS 

By Lydia Maria Child, Novelist, Journalist; Author of the first anti- 
slavery book printed in America. Born in Medford, Mass., 1802; 
died in Wayland, Mass., 1880. 

Taken from the novel, " The Rebels of Boston before the Revolution," published in 
1822. 

England may as well dam up the waters of the Nile with 
bulrushes as to fetter the step of freedom, more proud and 
firm in this youthful land than where she treads the seques- 
tered glens of Scotland, or couches herself among the mag- 
nificent mountains of Switzerland. Arbitrary principles like 
those against which we now contend have cost one king of 
England his life, another his crown, and they may yet cost 
a third his most flourishing colonies. 

We are two millions — one-fifth fighting men. We are bold 
and vigorous, and we call no man master. To the nation 
from whom we are proud to derive our origin we were ever, 
and we ever will be, ready to yield unforced assistance; but 
it must not, and it never can be, extorted. 

Some have sneeringly asked, " Are the Americans too poor 
to pay a few pounds on stamped paper?" No! America, 
thanks to God and herself, is rich. But the right to take 
ten pounds implies the right to take a thousand; and what 
must be the wealth that avarice, aided by power, cannot 
exhaust ? True, the specter is now small; but the shadow 
he casts before him is huge enough to darken all this fair 
land. Others, in sentimental style, talk of the immense debt 
of gratitude which we owe to England. And what is the 
amount of this debt ? Why, truly, it is the same that the 
young lion owes to the dam which has brought it forth on 



SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JAMES OTIS 121 

the solitude of the mountain, or left it amid the winds and 
storms of the desert. 

We plunged into the wave, with the great charter of free- 
dom in our teeth, because the fagot and torch were behind 
us. We have waked this new world from its savage lethargy; 
forests have been prostrated in our path; towns and cities 
have grown up suddenly as the flowers of the tropics; and 
the fires in our autumnal woods are scarcely more rapid than 
the increase of our wealth and population. And do we owe 
all this to the kind succor of the mother country ? No ! we 
owe it to the tyranny that drove us from her — to the pelting 
storms which invigorated our helpless infancy. 

But perhaps others will say, ' ' We ask no money from 
your gratitude, — we only demand that you should pay your 
own expenses." And who, I pray, is to judge of their 
necessity ? Why, the King, — and, with all due reverence to 
his sacred majesty, he understands the real wants of his dis- 
tant subjects as little as he does the language of the 
Choctaws! Who is to judge concerning the frequency of 
these demands ? The Ministry. Who is to judge whether 
the money is properly expended ? The Cabinet behind the 
Throne. In every instance, those who take are to judge for 
those who pay. If this system is suffered to go into opera- 
tion, we shall have reason to esteem it a great privilege that 
rain and dew do not depend upon Parliament; otherwise 
they would soon be taxed and dried. But, thanks to God, 
there is freedom enough upon earth to resist such monstrous 
injustice! The flame of liberty is extinguished in Greece 
and Rome; but the light of its glowing embers is still bright 
and strong on the shores of America. Actuated by its sacred 
influence, we will resist unto death. But we will not coun- 
tenance anarchy and misrule. The wrongs that a desperate 
community have heaped upon their enemies shall be amply 
and speedily repaired. Still, it may be w r ell for some proud 
men to remember that a fire is lighted in these Colonies 
which one breath of their King may kindle into such fury 
that the blood of all England cannot extinguish it ! 



122 BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON 



THE SOLUTION OF THE SOUTHERN PROBLEM 

By Booker Taliaferro Washington, Orator, Educator; Principal of 
Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute. Born a slave near Hale's 
Ford, Va., in 1857 or 1858. 

From an address delivered at 'the opening of the Cotton States and International 
Exposition, at Atlanta, Ga., Sept. 18, 1895. 

A ship lost at sea for many days suddenly sighted a friendly 
vessel. From the mast of the unfortunate vessel was seen a 
signal: "Water, water; we die of thirst!" The answer 
from the friendly vessel at once came back : ' ' Cast down 
your bucket where you are. ' ' A second time the signal, 
" Water, water; send us water! " ran up from the distressed 
vessel, and was answered : ' ' Cast down your bucket where 
you are." . . . The captain of the distressed vessel, at last 
heeding the injunction, cast down his bucket, and it came 
up full of fresh, sparkling water from the mouth of the 
Amazon River. To those of my race who depend on better- 
ing their condition in a foreign land, or who underestimate 
the importance of cultivating friendly relations with the 
Southern white man, who is their next-door neighbor, I 
would say: " Cast down your bucket where you are " — cast 
it down in making friends in every manly way of the people 
of all races by whom we are surrounded. 

Cast it down in agriculture, in mechanics, in commerce, 
in domestic service, and in the professions. . . . 

Our greatest danger is, that in the great leap from slavery 
to freedom we may overlook the fact that the masses of us 
are to live by the productions of our hands, and fail to keep 
in mind that we shall prosper^ in proportion as we learn to 
dignify and glorify common labor and put brains and skill 
into the common occupations of life; shall prosper in pro- 
portion as we learn to draw the line between the superficial 
and the substantial, the ornamental gewgaws of life and the 
useful. No race can prosper till it learns that there is as 
much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem. It is 



THE SOLUTION OF THE SOUTHERN PROBLEM 123 

at the bottom of life we must begin, and not at the top. 
Nor should we permit our grievances to overshadow our 
opportunities. 

To those of the white race who look to the incoming of 
those of foreign birth and strange tongue and habits for the 
prosperity of the South, were I permitted I would repeat 
what I say to my own race, ' ' Cast down your bucket where 
you are." Cast it down among the eight million negroes 
whose habits you know, whose fidelity and love you have 
tested in days when to have proved treacherous meant the 
ruin of your firesides. Cast down your bucket among these 
people who have, without strikes and labor wars, tilled your 
fields, cleared your forests, builded your railroads and cities, 
and brought forth treasures from the bowels of the earth, and 
helped make possible this magnificent representation of the 
progress of the South. Casting down your bucket among 
my people, helping and encouraging them to education of 
head, hand, and heart, you will find that they will buy your 
surplus land, make blossom the waste places in your fields, 
and run your factories. While doing this, you can be sure 
in the future, as in the past, that you and your families will 
be surrounded by the most patient, faithful, law-abiding, 
and unresentful people that the world has seen. As we have 
proved our loyalty to you in the past, in nursing your 
children, watching by the sick-bed of your mothers and 
fathers, and often following them with tear-dimmed eyes to 
their graves, so in the future, in our humble way, we shall 
stand by you with a devotion that no foreigner can approach, 
ready to lay down our lives, if need be^in defense of yours, 
interlacing our industrial, commercial, civil, and religious 
life with yours in a way that shall make the interests 
one. . . . 

And here, bending, as it were, over the altar that represents 
the results of the struggles of your race and mine, both 
starting practically empty-handed three decades ago, I pledge 
that in your effort to work out the great and intricate 



124 JOHN DAVIS LONG 

problem which God has laid at the doors of the South you 
shall have at all times the patient, sympathetic help of my 
race ; only let this be constantly in mind : that, while from 
representations in these buildings of the product of field, of 
torest, of mine, of factory, of letters and art, much good will 
come, yet far above and beyond material benefits will be that 
higher good which, let us pray God, will come in a blotting 
out of sectional differences and racial animosities and sus- 
picions, in a determination to administer absolute justice, in 
a willing obedience among all classes to the mandates of 
law. This, this, coupled with our material prosperity, will 
bring into our beloved South a new heaven and a new earth. 

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE SPANISH WAR 

By John Davis Long, Lawyer, Author; Governor of Massachusetts, 
1880-82; Member of Congress from Massachusetts, 1882-88; Secretary 
of the Navy, 1897 — . Born in Buckfield, Maine. 

From a speech made at a dinner of the Republican Club of Massachusetts, October 
26,1898. See Boston Herald and Journal, Oct. 27, 18^8. 

I cannot stand in this generous presence and not be 
keenly alive to the fact that it emphasizes, not the kindness 
of personal friendship, not even the spirit of partisan zeal, 
but the warm, enthusiastic pride of the American citizen in 
the administration of the American government; pride in his 
country, and pride especially, I am sure, from your welcome 
to-night to me, in the glory of the American navy. Were 
there ever such pages as that navy has written, not in water, 
but in letters of light on the firmament of history ? Why 
should I speak for it, when the navy speaks for itself ? 

Is it not enough to say that it has maintained the glorious 
standard to which it rose in the War of the American Revolu- 
tion, and in the War of 181 2, and in the War for the Union ? 
Its achievements during the last six months have been one 
blaze of unprecedented triumph. Not only the triumph of 
battle, but the finer triumph of the highest professional skill, 
of scientific achievement, and of that preparation and fore- 






THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE SPANISH IV A R 125 

sight which makes the public service efficient, accurate, and 
successful. It has added new names to the already glitter- 
ing constellation of heroic stars. 

The marvelous victories at Manila and Santiago, where 
Dewey and Sampson only led a list which runs without a break 
in its merit . from the admiral to the humblest sailor and 
marine, have made the naval power of the United States 
master of the sea. 

Of its professional spirit I cannot speak too highly. That 
spirit animated the officer on the deck, the commandant at 
the yard, the chief in the bureau, and no less the grades, 
every one of them, below these. Line and staff, superior 
and subordinate, have all worked with matchless fidelity and 
ability, and in harmonious co-operation, and deserve equal 
honor. 

When Hobson tendered his life on the forlorn hope of the 
Merrimac, the decks of the ships at Santiago were crowded 
with heroes, whose names are written in water, but who were 
eager to give their own lives to win the same high meed of 
praise and to do the same noble service for their country. 

The glory of the navy, and the glory of the war which it 
shares with the army, is not, however, in battle alone; or, 
rather, it is not in the brutal elements of battle. It is rather 
in the fine instinct, the heroic courage, the splendid devo- 
tion, the intense patriotism which nerve men to endure what 
otherwise were the unpardonable horrors of armed conflict, 
for the sake of the great ends and causes for which battles 
are fought. The war through which we have just passed was 
not waged for the exultation of victory. It was for the un- 
loosing of the yoke of bondage, the elevation of an oppressed 
people, the diviner civilization of the coming century. Its 
finer touches were more in the generous humanity it aroused 
than in the splendid courage it evoked. 

Not a trace of personal animosity toward the foe was 
visible from beginning to end. Few words will last longer 
than those which Captain Evans uttered when he said of his 



126 JOHN DAVIS LONG 

men during the battle of Santiago that " So long as the 
enemy flew its flag they fought like American seamen, but 
when the flag was hauled down they were as gentle and 
tender as American women." It was a revelation to the 
Spanish prisoners when they found themselves received with 
Christian kindness in an encampment rather than a prison 
at Portsmouth; their wounds bound up and every want 
provided for. 

The lesson has not been lost on the civilization of the 
time when Cervera, returning to his seat in the Spanish 
Senate, proclaims the humanity of America, and suggests to 
Spain that she benefit by our example, waken from her 
bondage to old limitations, and follow the lead of American 
enterprise and American institutions. . . . 

I stood a few days ago on the portico of the executive 
mansion. I recalled that in my youth I there met President 
Lincoln as he came out of the White House door. We were 
alone. Had I then lost, as I have since lost, the awe which 
a young man feels on meeting a great one, I should have 
presumed to speak to him ; and, perhaps, one of the saddest 
faces on which I ever looked might have been touched, in 
the passing greeting, with that kindly smile and lighting of 
the eyes which sometimes transformed it into beauty. 

The burden of the great war was then upon his gaunt 
frame. He had emancipated the slave, but the war was not 
over. The freedom of a race, the issue of equal rights for 
all men, high or low, black or white, was still trembling in 
the balance. 

A few days ago I stood with President McKinley on the 
same portico. We were not alone. Every foot of space, 
the railings, the grounds, were filled with a crowd of eager, 
interested people, men and women and children, waiting the 
march of the ioth regular cavalry, colored troops, who soon 
came passing in review. They were dismounted and march- 
ing in column. They were the heroes of the recent war. 
They had saved the brave Roosevelt and his Rough Riders. 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 127 

They had stormed and swept the hill of San Juan. They 
had ranked themselves with the bravest of the brave. 

Their uniforms showed service, but it was the uniform of 
the United States soldier. They swept by with easy, swing- 
ing step. With heads erect and flashing eyes and kindling 
faces, bearing in their dusky hands the torn colors of their 
regiment, they passed in review, and the President of the 
United States bared his head in token of respect. 

There and then I saw the consummation of Lincoln's 
work. Mayhap he, too, looked down from the portico of a 
mansion eternal in the heavens. The issue which trembled 
in his great hand is settled; the slave is free; there are equal 
rights for all ; the servile distinction of color is gone. The 
black man is the American soldier and the American citizen. 
There is no avenue of business life in which he does not 
walk; no profession of which he is not a member; no school 
of learning or of athletics in which he does not rank; and, 
on the platform, one of his race is to-day the best orator in 
America. 

KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

By James Whitcomb Riley, Poet, Story-writer. Born at Greenfield, 
Indiana, 1853. 

Taken from " Afterwhiles," by James Whitcomb Riley, copyright, 1887. Used by 
permission of the publishers, The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis, Ind , U.S.A. 

Tell you what I like the best — 
'Long about knee-deep in June, 

'Bout the time strawberries melts 
On the vine, — some afternoon 
Like to jes' git out and rest, 

And not work at nothin' else! 

Orchard's where I'd ruther be — 
Needn't fence it in fer me! 
Jes' the whole sky overhead, 

And the whole airth underneath — 



128 JAMES WHirCOMB RILEY 

Sorto' so's a man kin breathe 
Like he ort, and kindo' has 
Elbow-room to keerlessly 

Sprawl out len'thways on the grass 

'Where the shadders thick and soft 
As the kivvers on the bed 
Mother fixes in the loft 
Alius, when they's company! 

Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there — 
S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer 

Through the wavin' leaves above, 
Like a feller 'at's in love 
And don't know it, ner don't keer! 
Ever'thing you hear and see 
Got some sort o' interest — 
Maybe find a bluebird's nest 
Tucked up there conveenently 
Fer the boy 'at's apt to be 
Up some other apple-tree! 
Watch the swallers skootin' past 
'Bout as peert as you could ast; 
Er the Bob-white raise and whiz 
Where some other's whistle is. 

Ketch a shadder down below, 
And look up to find the crow — ■ 
Er a hawk, — away up there, 
'Pearantly/roz*? in the air! — 

Hear the old hen squawk, and squat 
Over ever' chick she's got, 
Suddent-like! — And she knows where 
That-air hawk is, well as you ! — 
You jes' bet yer life she do! — 
Eyes a-glitterin' like glass, 
Waitin' till he makes a pass! 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 129 

Pee-wees' singin', to express 

My opinion, 's second class, 
Yit you'll hear 'em more er less; 
Sapsucks gittin' down to biz, 
Weedin' out the lonesomeness; 
Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass, 

In them base-ball clothes o' his, 
Sportin' 'round the orchard jes' 
Like he owned the premises ! 

Sun out in the fields kin sizz, 
But flat on yer back, I guess, 
In the shade's where glory is! 
That's jes' what I'd like to do 
Stiddy fer a year er two ! 

Plague! ef they ain't somepin' in 
Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in' 
My convictions! — 'long about 
Here in June especially! — 
Under some old apple-tree, 
Jes' a-restin' through and through, 
I could git along without 
Nothin' else at all to do 
Only jes' a-wishin' you 
Was a-gittin' there like me, 
And June was eternity! 

Lay out there and try to see 
Jes' how lazy you kin be! — 

Tumble round and souse yer head 
In the clover-bloom, er pull 

Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes, 

And peek through it at the skies, 
Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead, 

Maybe, smilin' back at you 
In betwixt the beautiful 

Clouds o' gold and white and blue! — 



13° JOHN M ELLEN THURSTON 

Month a man kin railly love — 
June, you know, I'm talkin' of! 

March aint never nothin' new ! 
Aprile's altogether too 

Brash fer me! and May — I jes' 

'Bominate its promises, — 
Little hints o' sunshine and 
Green around the timber-land — 

A few blossoms, and a few 

Chip-birds, and a sprout er two — 
Drap asleep, and it turns in 
'Fore daylight and snows ag'in! — 

But when June comes — Clear my th'oat 

With wild honey! — Rench my hair 
In the dew! and hold my coat! 

Whoop out loud! and th'ow my hat! — 
June wants me, and I'm to spare! 
Spread them shadders anywhere, 
I'll git down and waller there, 
And obleeged to you at that ! 

LINCOLN: A MAN CALLED OF GOD 

By John Mellen Thurston, Lawyer; Senator from Nebraska, 1895 — . 
Born at Montpelier, Vt., 1847. 
Extract from an address before the Chicago Lincoln Association, February 12, 1891. 

God's providence has raised up a leader in every time of a 
people's exceeding need. 

Moses, reared in the family of Pharaoh, initiated in the 
sublime mysteries of the priestcraft of Egypt, partaking of 
the power and splendor of royal family and favor, himself a 
ruler and almost a king, was so moved by the degraded and 
helpless condition of his enslaved brethren that for their sake 
he undertook what to human understanding seemed the im- 
possible problem of deliverance. . . . 



LINCOLN: A MAN CALLED OF GOD 13* 

A peasant girl, a shepherdess, dreaming on the hills of 
France, feels her simple heart burn with the story of her 
country's wrongs. Its army beaten, shattered and dispersed; 
its fields laid waste; its homes pillaged and burned; its 
people outraged and murdered; its prince fleeing for life 
before a triumphant and remorseless foe. Hope for France 
was dead. Heroes, there were none to save. What could 
a woman do ? 

Into the soul of this timid, unlettered mountain maid 
there swept a flood of glorious resolve. Some power, 
unknown to man, drew back the curtain from the glass of 
fate and bade her look therein. As in a vision, she sees a 
new French army, courageous, hopeful, victorious, invinci- 
ble. A girl, sword in hand, rides at its head; before it the 
invaders flee. She sees France restored, her fields in, bloom, 
her cottages in peace, her people happy, her prince crowned. 

The rail-splitter of Illinois became President of the United 
States in the darkest hour of the nation's peril. Inexperi- 
enced and untrained in governmental affairs, he formulated 
national politics, overruled statesmen, directed armies, 
removed generals, and, when it became necessary to save the 
Republic, set at naught the written Constitution. He 
amazed the politicians and offended the leaders of his party; 
but the people loved him by instinct, and followed him 
blindly. The child leads the blind man through dangerous 
places, not by reason of controlling strength and intelligence, 
but by certainty of vision. Abraham Lincoln led the nation 
along its obscure pathway, for his vision was above the 
clouds, and he stood in the clear sunshine of God's indi- 
cated will. 

So stands the mountain while the murky shadows thicken 
at its base, beset by the tempest, lashed by the storm, dark- 
ness and desolation on every side; no gleam of hope in the 
lightning's lurid lances, nor voice of safety in the crashing 
thunder -bolts; but high above the topmost mist, vexed by 
no wave of angry sound, kissed by the sun of day, wooed 



I3 2 JOHN MELLEN THURSTON 

by the stars of night, the eternal summit lifts its snowy crest, 
crowned with the infinite serenity of peace. 

" And God said — let there be light, and there was light. " 
Light on the ocean, light on the land. 

" And God said — let there be light, and there was light." 
Light from the cross of calvary, light from the souls of men. 

" And God said — let there be light, and there was light." 
Light from the emancipation proclamation, light on the 
honor of the nation, light on the Constitution of the United 
States, light on the black faces of patient bondmen, light on 
every standard of freedom throughout the world. 

From the hour in which the cause of the Union became 
the cause of liberty, from the hour in which the flag of the 
Republic became the flag of humanity, from the hour in 
which the stars and stripes no longer floated over a slave ; 
yea, from the sacred hour of the nation's new birth, that 
dear old banner never faded from the sky, and the brave 
boys who bore it never wavered in their onward march to 
victory. . . . 

After a quarter of a century of peace and prosperity, all 
children of our common country kneel at the altar of a 
reunited faith. The blue and gray lie in eternal slumber 
side by side. Heroes all, they fell face to face, brother 
against brother, to expiate a nation's sin. The lonely fire- 
sides and the unknown graves, the memory of the loved, 
the yearning for the lost, the desolated altars and the broken 
hopes, are past recall. The wings of our weak protest beat 
in vain against the iron doors of fate. But through the 
mingled tears that fall alike upon the honored dead of both, 
the North and South turn hopeful eyes to that new future of 
prosperity and power, possible only in the shelter of the dear 
old flag. To the conquerors and the conquered, to the 
white man and the black, to the master and the slave, 
Abraham Lincoln was God's providence. 



THE TRUE IV A R SPIRIT 133 



THE TRUE WAR SPIRIT 

By George Frisbie Hoar, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Massa- 
L chusetts, 1868-76; Senator, 1877 — . Born in Concord, Mass., 1826. 
From a speech delivered in the United States Senate, April 14, t8q8. 

Mr. President, I regret, speaking for myself, that any 
Senator feels it to be his duty to indulge in harsh criticism 
of the President of the United States. Do gentlemen, when 
they criticise this brave American soldier's love of peace — 
and every brave American soldier from the beginning of our 
history has been a lover of peace — reflect what war is and 
who it is that suffers by it ? The persons who suffer by 
modern wars are not the men who provoke them or the men 
who are guilty of the causes to which they owe their origin. 
Every modern war is an additional burden on the poor man, 
the laboring man, the plain man, while the glory is reaped 
by a few officers and the profits by a few stock jobbers and 
contractors. 

It is not even the guilty Spaniard who is primarily to suffer 
by the terrible punishment which we are expected to inflict 
upon Spain. It is not the Weylers or even the Sagastas or 
the Blancos. It is the poor peasant whose first-born is to 
be drafted into the military service, never to return or to 
return a wreck. It is the widow whose stay is to be taken 
from her, who is to get no share of the glory, but only the 
full of the suffering. This war, if it be to come upon us, is 
to add a new and terrible burden, even if it be confined 
within the limits to which we hope it may be confined, to 
the already overburdened and suffering peasantry of Europe. 
The results of a great war are due to the policy of the king 
and the noble and the tyrant, not the policy of the people. 

Every child upon the continent of Europe to-day was 
born with a mortgage of three hundred and fifty dollars about 
his little neck and an armed soldier riding upon his back. 
So while I agree, as will be seen before I finish, that war may 



134 GEORGE FRISBIE HOAR 

be necessary, and it may be necessary now, yet I cannot 
myself agree with my honorable friend, the Senator from 
Mississippi, when he said so lightly that he thought it was a 
good plan to have a war once in a while, that it prevented 
the dry rot of prolonged peace. A nation is made up of 
human homes, and the glory of a nation and the value of its 
possessions are in its humble homes. I do not agree with 
the Senator who thinks that a home is made better by the 
loss of its boys or the crippling for life of its head. 

I do not like what follows war. I do not like the piling 
up in this country of thousands upon thousands of millions 
more of our public debt. I have not read history like the 
Senator from Mississippi in a way to lead me to think that 
war is ever a purifying process. The seasons which follow 
great wars, either in this country or elsewhere, are times of 
debts and jobs and disordered currency and popular discon- 
tent. The periods that have followed the great wars are the 
worst periods in history. If we enter upon this war, we are 
to subject our ships to many disasters like that of the Maine 
and our soldiers to pestilence and yellow fever. The 
destruction in the soldier who survives of the capacity for 
the rest of his life for the works of peace is a not insignificant 
result even of the best and most necessary war, to say 
nothing of the increase of the debt and of the pension 
list. . . . 

Mr. President, I expect to vote for the House resolutions, 
unless I should have an opportunity to vote for the resolu- 
tion of the honorable Senator from Colorado. That leads to 
war. There is no doubt about it. It will lead to the most 
honorable single war in all history, unless we except wars 
entered upon by brave people in the assertion of their own 
liberty. It leads to war. It is a war in which there does 
not enter the slightest thought or desire of foreign conquest 
or of national gain or advantage. 

I have not heard throughout this whole discussion in 
Senate or House an expression of a desire to subjugate and 



THE TRUE WAR-SPIRIT 135 

occupy Cuba for the purposes of our own country. There 
is nothing of that kind suggested. It is disclaimed by the 
President, disclaimed by the committee, disclaimed by 
everybody, so far as I am aware. It is entered into for the 
single and sole reason that three or four hundred thousand 
human beings, within ninety miles of our shores, have been 
subjected to the policy intended, or at any rate having the 
effect, deliberately to starve them to death — men, women, 
and children, old men, mothers, and infants. 

If there have been any hasty or unwise utterances of im- 
patience in such a cause as that, and I think there have 
been, they have been honest, brave, humane utterances. But 
when I enter upon this war, I want to enter upon it with a 
united American people — President and Senate and House, 
and Navy and Army, and Democrat and Republican, all 
joining hands and all marching one way. I want to enter 
upon it with the sanction of international law, with the 
sympathy of all humane and liberty-loving nations, with the 
approval of our own consciences, and with a certainty of the 
applauding judgment of history. 

I confess I do not like to think of the genius of America 
angry, snarling, shouting, screaming, kicking, clawing with 
her nails. I like rather to think of her in her august and 
serene beauty, inspired by a sentiment even toward her 
enemies not of hate, but of love, perhaps a little pale in the 
cheek and a dangerous light in her eye, but with a smile on 
her lips, as sure, determined, unerring, invincible as was the 
Archangel Michael when he struck down and trampled upon 
the Demon of Darkness. 



136 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 



CHARLES SUMNER 

By George William Curtis, Author, Orator, Lecturer, Editor. Born 
in Providence, R. I., 1824; died at Staten Island, N. Y., 1892. 

From a eulogy on Charles Sumner delivered before the Legislature of Massachusetts 
in Music Hall, Boston, June 9, 1874. Taken, by permission of the publishers, from 
" Orations and Addresses of George William Curtis." Copyright 1894, by Harper & 
Brothers, New York. 

The anti-slavery contest had closed many a door and 
many a heart against Charles Sumner. It had exposed him 
to the sneer, the hate, the ridicule, of opposition; it had 
threatened his life and assailed his person. But the great 
issue was clearly drawn; his whole being was stirred to its 
depths; he was in the bloom of youth, the pride of strength; 
history and reason, the human heart and the human con- 
science, were his immortal allies; and around him were the 
vast, increasing hosts of liberty; the men whose counsels he 
approved; the friends of his heart; the multitude that 
thought him only too eager for unquestionable right ; the 
prayer of free men and women, sustaining, inspiring, blessing 
him. But here was another scene, a far fiercer trial. His 
old companions in the Free-soil days, the great abolition 
leaders, most of his warmest personal friends, the great body 
of the party whom his words had inspired, looked at him 
with sorrowful surprise. Ah! no one who did not know 
that proud and tender heart, trusting, simple, almost 
credulous as that of a boy, could know how sore the trial 
was. He stood, among his oldest friends, virtually alone; 
with inexpressible pain they parted, each to his own duty. 
"Are you willing," I said to him one day, when he had 
passionately implored me to agree with him — and I should 
have been unworthy his friendship had I been silent — "is 
Charles Sumner willing at this time, and in the circumstances 
of to-day, to intrust the colored race in this country with all 
their rights, their liberty newly won and yet flexile and 
nascent, to a party, however fair it professes, which com- 



CHARLES SUMNER 137 

prises all who have hated and despised the negro ? The 
slave of yesterday in Alabama, in Carolina, in Mississippi, 
will his heart leap with joy or droop dismayed when he 
knows that Charles Sumner has given his great name as a 
club to smite the party that gave him and his children their 
liberty ? " The tears started to his eyes, that good gray head 
bowed down, but he answered, sadly, " I must do my 
duty. ' ' And he did it. He saw the proud, triumphant party 
that he had led so often — men and women whom his heart 
loved, the trusted friends of a life, the sympathy and confi- 
dence and admiration upon which, on his great days and after 
his resounding words, he had been joyfully accustomed to 
lean — he saw all these depart, and he turned to go alone and 
do his duty. 

Living how Sumner served us and dying, at this moment 
how he serves us still. In a time when politics seem 
peculiarly mean and selfish and corrupt, when there is a 
general vague apprehension that the very moral foundations 
of the national character are loosened, when good men are 
painfully anxious to know whether the heart of the people is 
hardened, Charles Sumner dies; and the universality and 
sincerity of sorrow, such as the death of no man left living 
among us could awaken, show how true, how sound, how 
generous, is still the heart of the American people. This is 
the dying service of Charles Sumner, a revelation which 
inspires every American to bind his shining example as a 
frontlet between the eyes, and never again to despair of the 
higher and more glorious destiny of his country. 

And of that destiny what a foreshowing was he! In that 
beautiful home at the sunny and leafy corner of the national 
city, where he lived among books and pictures and noble 
friendships and lofty thoughts . . . how the stately and 
gracious and all-accomplished man seemed the very personifi- 
cation of that new union for which he had so manfully 
striven, and whose coming his dying eyes beheld — the union 
of ever wider liberty and juster law, the America of compre- 



138 JOHN TOIVNSEND TROWBRIDGE 

hensive intelligence and of moral power! For that he 
stands; up to that his imperishable memory, like the words 
of his living lips, forever lifts us — lifts us to his own great 
faith in America and in man. Suddenly from his strong 
hand — my father, my father, the chariot of Israel, and the 
horsemen thereof! — the banner falls. Be it ours to grasp it, 
and carry it still forward, still higher! Our work is not his 
work, but it can be well done only in his spirit. And as, in 
the heroic legend of your Western valley, the men of Hadley, 
faltering in the fierce shock of Indian battle, suddenly saw 
at their head the lofty form of an unknown captain, with 
white hair streaming on the wind, by his triumphant mien 
strengthening their hearts and leading them to victory, so, 
men and women of Massachusetts, of America, if in that 
national conflict already begun, as vast and vital as the 
struggle of his life, the contest which is beyond that of any 
party or policy or measure — the contest for conscience, in- 
telligence, and morality as the supreme power in our politics 
and the sole salvation of America — you should falter or fail, 
suddenly your hearts shall see once more the towering form, 
shall hear again the inspiring voice, shall be exalted with the 
moral energy and faith of Charles Sumner, and the victories 
of his immortal example shall transcend the triumphs of his 
life. 

THE VAGABONDS 

By John Townsend Trowbridge, Editor, Author, Poet. Born in 
Ogden, N. Y., 1827; living in Arlington, Mass. 

We are two travelers, Roger and I. 

Roger's my dog. — Come here, you scamp. 
Jump for the gentleman, — mind your eye! 

Over the table, — look out for the lamp! — 
The rogue is growing a little old; 

Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, 
And slept out doors when nights were cold, 

And ate and drank — and starved — together. 



THE VAGABONDS 139 

We've learned what comfort is, I tell you ! 

A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, 
A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow, 

The paw he holds up there has been frozen), 
Plenty of catgut for my fiddle 

(This out-door business is bad for strings), 
Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, 

And Roger and I set up for kings ! 

No, thank you, Sir, — I never drink; 

Roger and I are exceedingly moral, — 
Aren't we, Roger ? — see him wink! — 

Well, something hot, then, we won't quarrel. 
He's thirsty, too — see him nod his head ? 

What a pity, Sir, that dogs can't talk — 
He understands every word that's said, — 

And he knows good milk from water and chalk. 

The truth is, Sir, now I reflect, 

I've been so sadly given to grog, 
I wonder I've not lost the respect 

(Here's to you, Sir!) even of my dog. 
But he sticks by, through thick and thin ; 

And this old coat with its empty pockets, 
And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, 

He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. 

There isn't another creature living 

Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, 
So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, 

To such a miserable thankless master! 
No, Sir! — see him wag his tail and grin! 

By George! it makes my old eyes water! 
That is, there's something in this gin 

That chokes a fellow. But no matter! 



140 JOHN TOIVNSEND TROWBRIDGE 

We'll have some music, if you are willing, 

And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, Sir!) 
Shall march a little. — Start, you villain! 

Stand straight! 'Bout face! Salute your officer! 
Put up that paw ! Dress ! Take your rifle ! 

(Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold 
Your cap while the gentlemen give a trifle 

To aid a poor old patriot soldier. 

March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes 

When he stands up to hear his sentence. 
Now tell how many drams it takes 

To honor a jolly new acquaintance. 
Five yelps, that's five; he's mighty knowing! 

The night's before us, fill the glasses! 
Quick, Sir! I'm ill, — my brain is going; 

Some brandy, — thank you; there, — it passes! 

Why not reform ? That's easily said; 

But I've gone through such wretched treatment, 
Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, 

And scarce remembering what meat meant, 
That my poor stomach's past reform; 

And there are times when, mad with thinking, 
I'd sell out heaven for something warm 

To prop a horrible inward sinking. 

Is there a way to forget to think ? 

At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends, 
A dear girl's love, — but I took to drink; — 

The same old story; you know how it ends. 
If you could have seen these classic features — 

You needn't laugh, Sir; they were not then 
Such a burning libel on God's creatures: 

I was one of your handsome men ! 



THE VAGABONDS 14 1 

If you had seen her, so fair and young, 

Whose, head was happy on his breast ! 
If you could have heard the songs I sung 

When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed 
That ever I, Sir, should be straying 

From door to door, with fiddle and dog, 
Ragged and penniless, and playing 

To you to-night for a glass of grog ! 

She's married since, — a parson's wife: 

'Twas better for her that we should part, — 
Better the soberest, prosiest life 

Than a blasted home and a broken heart. 
I have seen her ? Once : I was weak and spent 

On the dusty road ; a carriage stopped : 
But little she dreamed, as on she went, 

Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped ! 

You've set me talking, Sir; I'm sorry; 

It makes me wild to think of the change! 
What do you care for a beggar's story ? 

Is it amusing ? you find it strange ? 
I had a mother so proud of me! 

'Twas well she died before Do you know 

If the happy spirits in heaven can see 

The ruin and wretchedness here below ? 

Another glass, and strong, to deaden 

This pain ; then Roger and I will start. 
I wonder has he such a lumpish, leaden, 

Aching thing, in place of a heart ? 
He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, 

No doubt, remembering things that were, — 
A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, 

And himself a sober, respectable cur. 



142 JAMES GILLESPIE BLAINE 

I'm better now; that glass was warming — 

You rascal ! limber your lazy feet ! 
We must be fiddling and performing 

For supper and bed, or starve in the street. — 
Not a very gay life to lead, you think ? 

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, 
And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink 

The sooner the better for Roger and me. 



THE DEATH OF GARFIELD 

By James Gillespie Blaine, Journalist, Statesman, Author; Member 
of Congress from Maine, 1863-76, Senator, 1876-81 ; Secretary of 
State, 1881; 1889-92. Born in Washington County, Pennsylvania, 
1830; died in Washington, D. C, 1893. 

From a memorial oration delivered in the Hall of the House of Representatives, Feb. 
27, 1882. Taken, by permission of the publishers, from " Political Discussions," by 
J. G. Blaine; published by Henry Bill Publishing Co., Norwich, Conn. 

On the morning of Saturday, July second, the President 
was a contented and happy man — not in an ordinary degree, 
but joyfully, almost boyishly, happy. On his way to the 
railroad-station, to which he drove slowly, in conscious en- 
joyment of the beautiful morning, with an unwonted sense 
of leisure and a keen anticipation of pleasure, his talk was 
all in the grateful and gratulatory vein. He felt that after 
four months of trial his administration was strong in its grasp 
of affairs, strong in popular favor and destined to grow 
stronger; that grave difficulties confronting him at his in- 
auguration had been safely passed; that trouble lay behind 
him, and not before him ; that he was soon to meet the wife 
whom he loved, now recovering from an illness which had 
but lately disquieted and at times almost unnerved him; that 
he .was going to his alma mater to renew the most cherished 
associations of his young manhood, and to exchange greet- 
ings with those whose deepening interest had followed every 
step of his upward progress from the day he entered upon 



THE DEATH OF GARFIELD 143 

his college course until he had attained the loftiest elevation 
in the gift of his countrymen. 

Surely, if happiness can ever come from the honors or 
triumphs of this world, on that quiet July morning James A. 
Garfield may well have been a happy man. No foreboding 
of evil haunted him, no slightest premonition of danger 
clouded his sky. His terrible fate was upon him in an 
instant. One moment he stood erect, strong, confident in 
the years stretching peacefully out before him. The next he 
lay wounded, bleeding, helpless, doomed to weary weeks of 
torture, to silence and the grave. 

Great in life, he was surpassingly great in death. For no 
cause, in the very frenzy of wantonness and wickedness, by 
the red hand of Murder he was thrust from the full tide of 
this world's interest, from its hopes, its aspirations, its vic- 
tories, into the visible presence of death. And he did not 
quail. Not alone for the one short moment in which, 
stunned and dazed, he could give up life, hardly aware of its 
relinquishment, but through days of deadly languor, through 
weeks of agony that was. not less agony because silently 
borne, with clear sight and calm courage he looked into his 
open grave. What blight and ruin met his anguished eyes 
whose lips may tell — what brilliant broken plans, what 
baffled high ambitions, what sundering of strong, warm, 
manhood's friendships, what bitter rending of sweet house- 
hold ties! Behind him a proud, expectant nation; a great 
host of sustaining friends; a cherished and happy mother 
wearing the full, rich honors of her early toil and tears; the 
wife of his youth, whose whole life lay in his; the little boys 
not yet emerged from childhood's day of frolic; the fair 
young daughter; the sturdy sons just springing into closest 
companionship, claiming every day, and every day reward- 
ing, a father's love and care; and in his heart the eager, 
rejoicing power to meet all demand. Before him, desolation 
and great darkness! And his soul was not shaken. His 
countrymen were thrilled with instant, profound, and uni- 



144 JAMES GILLESPIE BLAINE 

versal sympathy. Masterful in his mortal weakness, he 
became the center of a nation's love, enshrined in the 
prayers of a world. But all the love and all the sympathy 
could not share with him his suffering. He trod the wine- 
press alone. With unfaltering front he faced death. With 
unfailing tenderness he took leave of life. Above the 
demoniac hiss of the assassin's bullet he heard the voice of 
God. With simple resignation he bowed to the divine 
decree. 

As the end drew near, his early craving for the sea 
returned. The stately mansion of power had been to him 
the wearisome hospital of pain, and he begged to be taken 
from its prison-walls, from its oppressive, stifling air, from 
its homelessness and its hopelessness. Gently, silently, the 
love of a great people bore the pale sufferer to the longed- 
for healing of the sea, to live or to die, as God should will, 
within sight of its heaving billows, within sound of its mani- 
fold voices. With wan, fevered face tenderly lifted to the 
cooling breeze he looked out wistfully upon the ocean's 
changing wonders — on its far sails whitening in the morning 
light; on its restless waves rolling shoreward to break and 
die beneath the noonday sun; on the red clouds of evening 
arching low to the horizon; on the serene and shining path- 
way of the stars. Let us think that his dying eyes read a 
mystic meaning which only the rapt and parting soul may 
know. Let us believe that in the silence of the receding 
world he heard the great waves breaking on a farther shore, 
and felt already upon his wasted brow the breath of the 
eternal morning. 



CUBA 145 



CUBA 



By William Pierce Frye, Lawyer ; Member of Congress from Maine, 
1871-81; Senator, 1881-. Born in Lewiston, Maine, 1831. 

From a speech delivered in the Senate, February 28, 1896 ; the Senate having under 
consideration a resolution relative to the war in Cuba. See Congressional Record, 
February 28, 1896. 

Mr. President, in the Committee on Foreign Relations, I 
voted for the pending resolution, but it is no fetich of mine. 
I am prepared to vote for that or for any other resolution, 
however drastic and however far-reaching, which can justly 
and without violating international obligations be passed 
by Congress. I have but one desire, and that is to see Cuba 
an independent republic, and whatever I can do justly and 
honorably to that end I am prepared now to do. 

Mr. President, I am weary and heartsick to see this 
splendid Republic of ours, its foundation-stones the equal 
rights of man, doing day after day and month after month 
police duty for the most wicked despotism there is to-day 
on this earth. When I read two or three days ago that a 
vessel carrying arms, ammunition, supplies, and a few men 
to aid the Cuban insurgents, had been successfully seized 
by the United States of America, I recognized the fact of the 
supremacy of law; but I was mortified and humiliated 
beyond expression, and I should have been delighted if I 
could have read in the very next item that Almighty God, 
without destroying innocent human life, had sent a commo- 
tion of nature, a grand tidal wave, and had sent skyward the 
seizing vessel, and had sent the succoring ship Cubaward; I 
should have rejoiced beyond measure. 

Sir, I never can forget what I felt when I read in the press 
years and years ago that a poor black man escaping from 
slavery had been seized by a United States marshal, aided by 
a regiment of United States soldiers, in the streets of Boston, 
right in front of the Cradle of Liberty, and had been 
manacled and sent back into slavery. I recognized that the 



146 CHARLES HENRY PARK HURST 

law had been vindicated; but there was not a humane or a 
Christian man or woman in the entire North who would not 
have thanked God, who would not have rejoiced without 
limit, if He, in His divine providence, had right at that time 
paralyzed the strong arm of the law and the poor slave had 
gone free. 

Sir, I say I am tired and wearied with doing police duty 
for the despotism of Spain, and I look upon these resolu- 
tions and the action of Congress now as the first step in call- 
ing a halt. 

Mr. President, my creed in these regards has no thirty- 
nine articles. It is a very brief one. These insurgents in 
this beautiful, but ill-fated and cruelly misgoverned, island 
have my profoundest sympathies. I cannot forget that 
where we had one just cause to rebel against the mother 
country these men have scores as just for their rebellion; 
and I shall do or say or vote anything, consistent with the 
honor and the integrity of the Republic, which shall, in my 
opinion, promote the success of the Cuban patriots who are 
to-day so bravely struggling to wrest liberty from the iron 
grasp of a cruel and relentless despotism. 



PIETY AND CIVIC VIRTUE 

By Charles Henry Parkhurst, Preacher, Author; Pastor of the 
Madison Square Presbyterian Church, New York City, 1880 — . Born 
at Framingham, Mass., 1842. 

The fault with the mass of civic virtue is that there is not 
enough Christian live coal in it to make it safe to be counted 
on for solid effects. What a wicked man will do on election 
day you can tell. What a good man will do you cannot 
tell. Most likely he will not do anything. It is a singular 
fact that goodness cannot be so confidently trusted as 
depravity can to do what is expected of it. It is not so 
reliable. It takes a larger consideration to prevent a bad 



PIETY AND CIVIC VIRTUE 147 

man from casting his ballot for rum than it does to prevent 
a good man from going and voting against it. 

Average decency is not so much in earnest as average 
profligacy. Elections in city and State are very likely to 
turn on the weather. Singularly enough a watery day is apt 
to mean a rum government. Respectability looks at the 
barometer before it steps out of doors. Decency is afraid 
of taking cold. Piety does not like to get its feet wet. 
Wickedness is amphibious and thrives in any element or in 
no element. There are a good many lessons which the 
powers of darkness are competent to teach the children of 
light, and that is one of them. Vice is a good deal spryer 
than virtue, has more staying power, can work longer with- 
out getting out of breath, and has less need of half-holidays. 

I know because of this people say, you can't do anything. 
You can. One man can chase a thousand; we have the 
Almighty's word for it. I have done it. I am not bragging 
of it; but I have done it. And any man can do it be he 
Catholic, Republican, or Democrat, if he have the truth on 
his side, dares to stand up and tell it, is distinguished by 
consecrated hang-to-itiveness, and when he has been 
knocked down once preserves his serenity, gets up, and goes 
at it again. One man can chase a thousand. Let our 
earnest, fiery citizens once get but an inkling of what 
citizenship means, in its truest and innermost sense, and there 
is no wall of misrule too solidly constructed for it to over- 
throw; no "machine" of demagogism too elaborately 
wrought for it to smash. There is nothing that can stand 
in the way of virtue on fire. A fact you can misstate, a 
principle you can put under a false guise, but a man you 
cannot down; that is to say, if he is a man who has grit, 
grace, and sleeps well o' nights. 

There is no play about this work; there is no fun in it. 
It means annoyances; it means enmities. It is no more 
possible to stand up in the presence of the community and 
speak the truth in cold monosyllables now than it was in 



148 CHARLES HENRY PARKHURST 

Jerusalem two thousand years ago. Human nature has not 
altered any in that time. There is not so much wickedness 
now, perhaps, as there was then, but what there is is just as 
wicked and just as malignant. If a man butts his head 
against a wall, he may be able to do a little something 
towards weakening the wall, but it will be certain to give 
him the headache. Action and reaction are bound to be 
equal. Nothing less than the steady pull of a long and 
devout purpose will be sufficient under those circumstances 
to keep the man a-going. 

Men now are precisely what they were when they thrust 
Jeremiah into a hole and took off the head of John the 
Baptist. But that makes not a whit of difference. Every 
blow tells. Wickedness is cowardly and Pentecostal virtue 
is not. That makes a huge difference. The matter of 
numbers does not come into the account. History is not 
administered on the basis of arithmetic. The declaration of 
Solomon that the battle is not to the strong has been justi- 
fied by every age of moral, political, and military history. 

No cause can be called a weak cause that has vitality 
enough about it to make devotees out of its advocates. 
Philip Second could do nothing with poor little Holland 
because the Protestant's idea put recruits on their feet faster 
than Philip's mercenaries could shoot or roast the veterans. 

If any one anywhere is anxious to accomplish something 
in the way of ameliorating the condition of his town or city, 
and asks me what he shall do, I answer in ten words : Get 
the facts; state them; stand up to them. 



ON THE OTHER TRAIN : A CLOCK'S STORY 149 

ON THE OTHER TRAIN: A CLOCK'S STORY 

Anonymous. 

" There, Simmons, you blockhead! Why didn't you trot 
that old woman aboard her train ? She'll have to wait here 
now until the 1.05 a.m." 

" You didn't tell me." 

"Yes, I did tell you. 'Twas only your confounded 
stupid carelessness." 

"She—" 

"She! You fool! What else could you expect of her! 
Probably she hasn't any wit; besides, she isn't bound on a 
very jolly journey — got a pass up the road to the poorhouse. 
I'll go and tell her, and if you forget her to-night, see if I 
don't make mince-meat of you!" and our worthy ticket 
agent shook his fist menacingly at his subordinate. 

" You've missed your train, marm, " he remarked, coming 
forward to a queer-looking bundle in the corner. 

A trembling hand raised the faded black veil, and revealed 
the sweetest old face I ever saw. 

" Never mind," said a quivering voice. 

" 'Tis only three o'clock now; you'll have to wait until 
the night train, which doesn't go up until 1.05." 

" Very well, sir; I can wait." 

" Wouldn't you like to go to some hotel ? Simmons will 
show you the way. ' ' 

" No, thank you, sir. One place is as good as another 
to me. Besides, I haven't any money." 

' ' Very well, ' ' said the agent, turning away indifferently. 
" Simmons will tell you when it's time." 

All the afternoon she sat there so quiet that I thought she 
must be asleep, but when I looked more closely I could see 
every once in a while a great tear rolling down her cheek, 
which she would wipe away hastily with her colored hand- 
kerchief. 

The station was crowded, and all was bustle and hurry 



15° ANONYMOUS 

until the 9.50 train going east came due; then every passen- 
ger left except the old lady. It is very rare indeed that any 
one takes the night express, and almost always after ten 
o'clock the station becomes silent and empty. 

The ticket agent put on his great-coat, and, bidding 
Simmons keep his wits about him for once in his life, 
departed for home. 

But he had no sooner gone than that functionary stretched 
himself out upon the table, as usual, and began to snore 
vociferously. 

Then it was that I witnessed such a sight as I never had 
before and never expect to witness again. 

The fire had gone down — it was a cold night, and the 
wind howled dismally outside. The lamps grew dim and 
flared, casting weird shadows upon the wall. By and by I 
heard a smothered sob from the corner, then another. I 
looked in that direction. She had risen from her seat, and 
oh, the look of agony on that poor pinched face! 

"I can't believe it! My babies! my babies! how often 
have I held them in my arms and kissed them; and how 
often they used to say back to me, ' Ise love you, mamma, ' 
and now, O God! they've turned against me! Where am I 
going? To the poorhouse! No! no! no! I cannot! I 
will not! Oh, the disgrace! " 

And sinking upon her knees, she sobbed out in prayer: 
" O God, spare me this and take me home! O God, spare 
me this disgrace ; spare me ! ' ' 

The wind rose higher and swept through the crevices, icy 
cold. How it moaned and seemed to sob like something 
human that is hurt! I began to shake, but the kneeling 
figure never stirred. The thin shawl had dropped from her 
shoulders unheeded. Simmons turned over and drew his 
blanket more closely about him. 

Oh, how cold! Only one lamp remained, burning dimly; 
the other two had gone out for want of oil. I could hardly 
see, it was so dark. 



ON THE OTHER TRAIN : A CLOCK'S STORY 151 

At last she became quieter and ceased to moan. Then I 
grew drowsy, and kind of lost run of things after I had 
struck twelve, when some one entered the station with a 
bright light. I started up. It was the brightest light I ever 
saw, and seemed to fill the room full of glory. I could see 
'twas a man. He walked to the kneeling figure and touched 
her upon the shoulder. She started up and turned her face 
wildly round. I heard him say: 

" 'Tis train-time, ma'am. Come! " 

A look of joy came over her face. 

"lam ready," she whispered. 

" Then give me your pass, ma'am." 

She reached him a worn old book, which he took, and 
from it read aloud : 

" Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, 
and I will give you rest." 

" That's the pass over our road, ma'am. Are you 
ready ? ' ' 

The light died away, and darkness fell in its place. My 
hand touched the stroke of one. Simmons awoke with a 
start and snatched his lantern. The whistle sounded " down 
breaks ' ' ; the train was due. He ran to the corner and 
shook the old woman. 

" Wake up, marm; 'tis train-time." 

But she never heeded. He gave one look at the white set 
face, and, dropping his lantern, fled. 

The up train halted, the conductor shouted " All aboard," 
but no one made a move that way. 

The next morning, when the ticket agent came, he found 
her frozen to death. They whispered among themselves, 
and the coroner made out the verdict ' ' apoplexy, ' ' and it 
was in some way hushed up. 

They laid her out in the station, and advertised for her 
friends, but no one came. So, after the second day, they 
buried her. 

The last look on the sweet old face, lit up with a smile 



I5 2 THOMAS BRACK ETT REED 

so heavenly, I keep with me yet ; and when I think of the 
occurrence of that night, I know she went out on the other 
train, which never stopped at the poorhouse. 



OPPORTUNITY TO LABOR 

By Thomas Brackett Reed, Lawyer, Statesman; Member of Congress 
from Maine, 1877-99. Speaker of the 51st, 54th, and 55th Con- 
gresses. Born in Portland, Me., 1839; resides in New York, N. Y. 

From an address delivered at Old Orchard, Me., August 25, 1896. See Portland 
Daily Press, Aug. 27, 1896. 

What seemed the great primeval curse that in the sweat 
of his face should man eat bread has been found, in the 
wider view of the great cycles of the Almighty, to be the 
foundation of all sound hope, all sure progress, and all 
permanent power. Man no longer shuns labor as his 
deadliest foe, but welcomes it as his dearest friend. Nations 
no longer dream of riches as the spoils of war, but as the 
fruits of human energy directed by wise laws and encouraged 
by peace and good will. Battlements and forts and castles, 
armies and navies, are day by day less and less the enginery 
of slaughter, and more and more the guarantee of peace with 
honor. What the world longs for now is not the pageantry 
and devastation of war for the aggrandizement of the few, 
but the full utilization of all human energy for the benefit 
of all mankind. 

Give us but the opportunity to labor, and the whole world 
of human life will burst into tree and flower. 

To the seventy-five millions of people who make up this 
great Republic, the opportunity to labor means more than 
to all the world besides. It means the development of 
resources great beyond the comprehension of any mortal, and 
the diffusion among all of the riches to which the glories of 
" The Arabian Nights " are but the glitter of the pawnshop, 
and to which the sheen of all the jewels of this earth are but 
the gleam of the glowworm in the pallor of the dawn. 



THE BENEDICTION 153 

To develop our great resources, it is the one prime neces- 
sity that all our people should be at work, that all the brain 
and muscle should be in harmonious action, united in their 
endeavors to utilize the great forces of nature and to make 
wealth out of senseless matter and out of all the life which 
begins with the cradle and ends with the grave, and out of 
all the powers which ebb and flow in the tides of the ocean, 
in the rush of the rivers, and out of the great energies which 
are locked up in the bosom of the earth. 



THE BENEDICTION 

By FRANCOIS Coppee, Poet, Dramatist. Born in Paris, France, 1842. 

It was in eighteen hundred — yes — and nine, 
That we took Saragossa. What a day 
Of untold horrors ! I was sergeant then. 
The city carried, we laid siege to the houses, 
All shut up close, and with a treacherous look, 
Raining down shots upon us from the windows. 
" 'Tis the priests' doing! " was the word passed round; 
So that — although since daybreak under arms, 
Our eyes with powder smarting, and our mouths 
Bitter with kissing cartridge-ends — piff ! piff ! 
Rattled the musketry with ready aim, 
If shovel hat and long black coat were seen 
Flying in the distance. Up a narrow street 
My company worked on. I kept an eye 
On every house-top, right and left, and saw 
From many a roof flames suddenly burst forth, 
Coloring the sky, as from the chimney-tops 
Among the forges. Low our fellows stooped, 
Entering the low-pitched dens. When they came out, 
With bayonets dripping red, their bloody fingers 
Signed crosses on the wall ; for we were bound, 
In such a dangerous defile, not to leave 
Foes lurking in our rear. There was no drum-beat, 



154 FRANCOIS COP PEE 

No ordered march. Our officers looked grave; 
The rank and file uneasy, jogging elbows 
As do recruits when flinching. 

All at once, 
Rounding a corner, we are hailed in French 
With cries for help. At double-quick we join 
Our hard-pressed comrades. They were grenadiers, 
A gallant company, but beaten back 
Inglorious from the raised and flag-paved square 
Fronting a convent. Twenty stalwart monks 
Defended it, black demons with shaved crowns, 
The cross in white embroidered on their frocks, 
Barefoot, their sleeves tucked up, their only weapons 
Enormous crucifixes, so well brandished 
Our men went down before them. By platoons 
Firing we swept the place; in fact, we slaughtered 
This terrible group of heroes, no more soul 
Being in us than in executioners. 

The foul deed done — deliberately done — 
And the thick smoke rolling away, we noted, 
Under the huddled masses of the dead, 
Rivulets of blood run trickling down the steps; 
While in the background solemnly the church 
Loomed up, its doors wide open. We went in. 
It was a desert. Lighted tapers starred 
The inner gloom with points of gold. The incense 
Gave out its perfume. At the upper end, 
Turned to the altar, as though unconcerned 
In the fierce battle that had raged, a priest, 
White-haired and tall of stature, to a close 
Was bringing tranquilly the mass. So stamped 
Upon my memory is that thrilling scene, 
That, as I speak, it comes before me now — 
The convent, built in old time by the Moors; 
The huge, brown corpses of the monks; the sun 



THE BENEDICTION IS 5 

Making the red blood on the pavement steam; 
And there, framed in by the low porch, the priest; 
And there the altar, brilliant as a shrine; 
And here ourselves, all halting, hesitating, 
Almost afraid. 

I, certes, in those days 
Was a confirmed blasphemer. 'Tis on record 
That once, by way of sacrilegious joke, 
A chapel being sacked, I lit my pipe 
At a wax candle burning on the altar. 
This time, however, I was awed — so blanched 
Was that old man! 

" Shoot him! '• our captain cried. 
Not a soul budged. The priest beyond all doubt 
Heard ; but, as though he heard not, turning round, 
He faced us with the elevated Host, 
Having that period of the service reached 
When on the faithful benediction falls. 
His lifted arms seemed as the spread of wings; 
And as he raised the pyx, and in the air 
With it described the cross, each man of us 
Fell back, aware the priest no more was trembling 
Than if before him the devout were ranged. 
But when, intoned with clear and mellow voice, 
The words came to us — 

Vos benedicat! 
Deus Omnipotens I 

The captain's order 
Rang out again and sharply, ' ' Shoot him down, 
Or I shall swear! " Then one of ours, a dastard, 
Leveled his gun and fired. Upstanding still, 
The priest changed color, though with steadfast look 
Set upwards, and indomitably stern. 
Pater et Filius / 

Came the words. What frenzy, 
What maddening thirst for blood, sent from our ranks 



156 EPES SARGENT 

Another shot, I know not; but 'twas done. 
The monk, with one hand on the altar's ledge, 
Held himself up; and strenuous to complete 
His benediction, in the other raised 
The consecrated Host. For the third time 
Tracing in the air the symbol of forgiveness, 
With eyes closed, and in tones exceeding low, 
But in the general hush distinctly heard, 
Et Sanclus Spiritus / 

He said; and ending 
His service, fell down dead. 



SPARTACUS TO THE ROMAN ENVOYS 

By Epes Sargent, Editor, Author, Poet. Born in Gloucester, Mass., 
1813; died in Boston, Mass., 1880. 

Envoys of Rome, the poor camp of Spartacus is too much 
honored by your presence. And does Rome stop to parley 
with the escaped gladiator, with the rebel ruffian, for whom 
heretofore no slight has been too scornful ? You have 
come, with steel in your right hand, and with gold in your 
left. What heed we give the former, ask Cossinius; ask 
Claudius; ask Varinius; ask the bones of your legions that 
fertilize the Lucanian plains. And for your gold — would ye 
know what we do with that, — go ask the laborer, the trodden 
poor, the helpless and the hopeless, on our route; ask all 
whom Roman tyranny had crushed, or Roman avarice 
plundered. Ye have seen me before; but ye did not then 
shun my glance as now. Ye have seen me in the arena, 
when I was Rome's pet ruffian, daily smeared with blood 
of men or beasts. One day — shall I forget it ever ? — -ye were 
present; — I had fought long and well. Exhausted as I was, 
your munerator, your lord of the games, bethought him, it 
were an equal match to set against me a new man, younger 
and lighter than I, but fresh and valiant. With Thracian 
sword and buckler, forth he came ? a beautiful defiance on 



SPARTACUS TO THE ROMAN ENVOYS 157 

his brow! Bloody and brief the fight. " He has it! " cried 
the people: " habet! habel!" Bat still he lowered not his 
arm, until, at length, I held him, gashed and fainting, in 
my power. I looked around upon the Podium, where sat 
your senators and men of state, to catch the signal of release 
or mercy. But not a thumb was reversed. To crown your 
sport, the vanquished man must die! Obedient brute that 
I was, I was about to slay him, when a few hurried words — 
rather a welcome to death than a plea for life — told me he 
was a Thracian. I stood transfixed. The arena vanished. 
I was in Thrace, upon my native hills ! The sword dropped 
from my hands. I raised the dying youth tenderly in my 
arms. 0, the magnanimity of Rome! Your haughty 
leaders, enraged at being cheated of their death-show, hissed 
their disappointment, and shouted, "Kill!" I heeded 
them as I would heed the howl of wolves. Kill him? — They 
might have better asked the mother to kill the babe, smiling 
in her face. Ah! he was already wounded unto death; and, 
amid the angry yells of the spectators, he died. That night 
I was scourged for disobedience. I shall not forget it. 
Should memory fail, there are scars here to quicken it. 

Well; do not grow impatient. Some hours after, finding 
myself, with seventy fellow gladiators, alone in the amphi- 
theater, the laboring thought broke forth in words. I said 
— I know not what. I only knew that, when. I ceased, my 
comrades looked each other in the face — and then burst 
forth the simultaneous cry — ' ' Lead on ! Lead on, O Sparta- 
cus! " Forth we rushed, — seized what rude weapons 
chance threw in our way, and to the mountains speeded. 
There, day by day, our little band increased. Disdainful 
Rome sent after us a handful of her troops, with a scourge 
for the slave Spartacus. Their weapons soon were ours. 
She sent an army; and down from Old Vesuvius we poured, 
and slew three thousand. Now it was Spartacus the dreadful 
rebel ! A larger army, headed by the Prsetor, was sent, and 
routed; then another still. And always I remembered that 



158 THEODORE PARKER 

fierce cry, riving my heart, and calling me to " kill! " In 
three pitched battles have I not obeyed it ? And now 
affrighted Rome sends her two consuls, and puts forth all 
her strength by land and sea, as if a Pyrrhus or a Hannibal 
were on her borders ! 

Envoys of Rome! To Lentulus and Gellius bear this 
message: "Their graves are measured!" Look on that 
narrow stream, a silver thread, high on the mountain's side! 
Slenderly it winds, but soon is swelled by others meeting it, 
until a torrent, terrible and strong, it sweeps to the abyss, 
where all is ruin! So Spartacus comes on! So swells his 
force, — small and despised at first, but now resistless! On, 
on to Rome we come! The gladiators come! Let Opulence 
tremble in all his palaces ! Let Oppression shudder to think 
the oppressed may have their turn ! Let Cruelty turn pale 
at thought of redder hands than his! O! we shall not forget 
Rome's many lessons. She shall not find her training was 
all wasted upon indocile pupils. Now, begone! Prepare 
the Eternal City for our games! 



AGAINST THE FUGITIVE-SLAVE LAW 

By Theodore Parker. Preacher, Reformer, Lecturer, Author. Born 
at Lexington, Mass., 1810; died at Florence, Italy, i860. 

From a sermon preached in Boston, Mass., November 28, 1850. See Parker's 
"Speeches, Addresses, and Occasional Sermons," published in 1852 by Wm. Crosby 
and H. P. Nichols, Boston, Mass. 

Come with me, my friends, a moment more, pass over 
this Golgotha of human history, treading reverent as you go, 
for our feet are on our mothers' graves, and our shoes defile 
our fathers' hallowed bones. Let us not talk of them; go 
farther on, look and pass by. Come with me into the 
inferno of the nations, with such poor guidance as my lamp 
can lend. Let us disquiet and bring up the awful shadows 
of empires buried long ago, and learn a lesson from the 
tomb. " Come, old Assyria, with the Ninevitish dove upon 



AGAINST THE FUGITIVE-SLAVE LAW t$9 

thy emerald crown! what laid thee low ? " "I fell by my 
cwn injustice. Thereby Nineveh and Babylon came with 
me also to the ground." — " O, queenly Persia, flame of the 
nations, wherefore art thou so fallen, who troddest the 
people under thee, bridgedst the Hellespont with ships, and 
pouredst thy temple-wasting millions on the world ? " 
' ' Because I trod the people under me, and bridged the 
Hellespont with ships, and poured my temple-wasting 
millions on the western world, I fell by my own misdeeds. 
— ■" Thou muse-like Grecian queen, fairest of all thy classic 
sisterhood of states, enchanting yet the world with thy sweet 
witchery, speaking in art and most seductive song, why liest 
thou there, with beauteous yet dishonored brow, reposing 
on thy broken harp ? " "I scorned the law of God ; 
banished and poisoned wisest, justest men; I loved the 
loveliness of thought, and treasured that in more than Parian 
speech. But the beauty of justice, the loveliness of love, I 
trod them down to earth! Lo, therefore have I become as 
those barbarian states — as one of them!" — " O, manly 
and majestic Rome, thy sevenfold mural crown all broken 
at thy feet, why art thou here ? It was not injustice brought 
thee low; for thy great book of law is prefaced with these 
words — justice is the unchanged, everlasting will to give 
each man his right! It was not the saint's ideal; it was 
the hypocrite's pretense. I made iniquity my law. I trod 
the nations under me. Their wealth gilded my palaces — 
where thou mayest see the fox and hear the owl — it fed my 
courtiers and my courtesans. Wicked men were my cabinet 
counselors, the flatterer breathed his poison in my ear. 
Millions of bondsmen wet the soil with tears and blood. 
Do you not hear it crying yet to God ? Lo, here have I my 
recompense, tormented with such downfall as you see! Go 
back and tell the new-born child who sitteth on the 
Alleghanies, laying his either hand upon a tributary sea, a 
crown of thirty stars upon his youthful brow — tell him that 
there are rights which States must keep, or they shall suffer 



160 BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON 

wrongs! Tell him there is a God who keeps the black man 
and the white, and hurls to earth the loftiest realm that 
breaks his just, eternal law! Warn the young empire, that 
he come not down dim and dishonored to my shameful 
tomb! Tell him that justice is the unchanging, everlasting 
will to give each man his right. I knew it, broke it, and 
am lost. Bid him know it, keep it, and be safe." 

A MESSAGE FROM THE SOUTH 

By Booker Taliaferro Washington, Educator, Principal of Tuskegee 
Normal and Industrial Institute. Born a slave near Hale's Ford, Va., 
in 1857 or 1858. 

From an address delivered at the unveiling of the Shaw Monument, Boston, Mass., 
May 31, 1897. See Harvard Graduates' Magazine, Sept. 1897. 

If that heart could throb and if those lips could speak, 
what would be the sentiment and words that Robert Gould 
Shaw would have us feel and speak at this hour ? He would 
not have us dwell long on the mistakes, the injustice, the 
criticisms of the days 

' < Of storm and cloud, of doubt and fears 
That 'cross the eternal sky must lower, 
Before the glorious noon appears." 

He would have us bind up with his own undying fame and 
memory, and retain by the side of his monument, the name 
of John A. Andrew, who, with clear vision and strong arm, 
helped make the existence of the Fifty-fourth Regiment 
possible; and that of George L. Stearns, who, with hidden 
generosity and a great, sweet heart, helped to turn the darkest 
hour into day, and in doing so freely gave service, fortune, 
and life itself to the cause which this day commemorates. 
Nor would he have us forget those brother officers, living 
and dead, who, by their baptism in blood and fire, in defense 
of Union and freedom, gave us an example of the highest 
and purest patriotism. . . . 

But an occasion like this is too great, too sacred for mere 
individual eulogy. The individual is the instrument, national 



A MESSAGE FROM THE SOUTH 161 

virtue the end. That which was three hundred years being 
woven into the warp and woof of our democratic institutions 
could not be effaced by a single battle, magnificent as was 
that battle; that which for three centuries had bound master 
and slave, yea, North and South, to a body of death, could 
not be blotted out by four years of war, could not be atoned 
for by shot and sword nor by blood and tears. 

Not many days ago, in the heart of the South, in a large 
gathering of the people of my race, there were heard from 
jmany lips praises and thanksgiving to God for His goodness 
in setting them free from physical slavery. In the midst of 
that assembly a Southern white man arose, with gray hair and 
trembling hands, the former owner of many slaves, and from 
his quivering lips there came the words: " My friends, you 
forget in your rejoicing that in setting you free God was also 
good to me and my race in setting us free." But there is a 
higher and deeper sense in which both races must be free 
than that represented by the bill of sale. The black man 
who cannot let love and sympathy go out to the white man 
is but half free. The white man who would close the shop 
or factory against a black man seeking an opportunity to 
earn an honest living is but half free. The white man who 
retards his own development by opposing a black man is but 
half free. The full measure of the fruit of Fort Wagner and 
all that this monument stands for will not be realized until 
every man covered by a black skin shall, by patience and 
natural effort, grow to that height in industry, property, 
intelligence, and moral responsibility where no man in all 
our land will be tempted to degrade himself by withholding 
from his black brother any opportunity which he himself 
would possess. 

Until that time comes this monument will stand for effort, 
not victory complete. What these heroic souls of the Fifty- 
fourth Regiment began we must complete. It must be com- 
pleted not in malice, not narrowness; nor artificial progress, 
nor in efforts at mere temporary political gain, nor in abuse 



1 62 BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON 

of another section or race. Standing as I do to-day in the 
home of Garrison and Phillips and Sumner, my heart goes 
out to those who wore the gray as well as to those clothed 
in blue, to those who returned defeated, to destitute homes, 
to face blasted hopes and a shattered political and industrial 
system. To them there can be no prouder reward for defeat 
than by a supreme effort to place the negro on that footing 
where he will add material, intellectual, and civil strength 
to every department of State. . . . 

What lesson has this occasion for the future ? What of 
hope, what of encouragement, what of caution ? ' ' Watch- 
man, tell us of the night, what the signs of promise are." 
If through me, an humble representative, nearly ten million 
of my people might be permitted to send a message to 
Massachusetts, to the survivors of the Fifty-fourth Regiment, 
to the committee whose untiring energy has made this me- 
morial possible, to the family who gave their only boy that 
we might have life more abundantly, that message would be, 
Tell them that the sacrifice was not in vain, that up from the 
depths of ignorance and poverty we are coming, and if we 
come through oppression out of the struggle we are gaining 
strength. By the way of the school, the well-cultivated 
field, the skilled hand, the Christian home, we are coming 
up; that we propose to invite all who will to step up and 
occupy this position with us. 

Tell them that we are learning that standing-ground for a 
race, as for an individual, must be laid in intelligence, in- 
dustry, thrift, and property, not as an end, but as a means 
to the highest privileges; that we are learning that neither 
the conqueror's bullet nor fiat of law could make an 
ignorant voter an intelligent voter, could make a dependent 
man an independent man, could give one citizen respect for 
another, a bank account, nor a foot of land, nor an enlight- 
ened fireside. Tell them that, grateful as we are to artist 
and patriotism for placing the figures of Shaw and his com- 
rades in physical form of beauty and magnificence, after all, 



THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING 163 

the real monument, the greater monument, is being slowly 
but safely builded among the lowly in the South, in the 
struggles and sacrifices of a race to justify all that has been 
done and suffered for it. 

One of the wishes that lay nearest Colonel Shaw's heart 
was that his black troops might be permitted to fight by the 
side of white soldiers. Have we not lived to see that wish 
realized, and will it not be more so in the future ? Not at 
Wagner, not with rifle and bayonet, but on the field of 
peace, in the battle of industry, in the struggle for good 
government, in the lifting up of the lowest to the fullest 
opportunities. In this we shall fight by the side of white 
men North and South. And if this be true, as under God's 
guidance it will, that old flag, that emblem of progress and 
security which brave Sergeant Carney never permitted to fall 
upon the ground, will still be borne aloft by southern soldier 
and northern soldier, and in a more potent and higher sense 
we shall all realize that 

" The slave's chain and the master's alike are broken. 
The one curse of the races held both in tether. 
They are rising, all are rising. 
The black and the white together." 



THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING 

By Thomas Buchanan Read, Artist, Poet. Born in Chester County, 
Penn., 1822; died in New York City, 1872. 

Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from " The Poetical Works of Thomas 
Buchanan Read; copyright 1868, by J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia. 

Out of the North the wild news came, 
Far flashing on its wings of flame, 
Swift as the boreal light which flies 
At midnight through the startled skies. 
And there was tumult in the air, 

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat. 
And through the wide land everywhere 

The answering tread of hurrying feet ; 



1 64 THOMAS BUCHANAN READ 

While the first oath of Freedom's gun 
Came on the blast from Lexington; 
And Concord roused, no longer tame, 
Forgot her old baptismal name, 
Made bare her patriot arm of power, 
And swelled the discord of the hour. 

Within its shade of elm and oak 

The church of Berkley Manor stood; 
There Sunday found the rural folk, 

And some esteemed of gentle blood. 

In vain their feet with loitering tread 
Passed mid the graves where rank is naught; 
All could not read the lesson taught 

In that republic of the dead. 

How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk, 
The vale with peace and sunshine full, 

Where all the happy people walk, 

Decked in their homespun flax and wool, 
Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom; 

And every maid, with simple art, 

Wears on her breast, like her own heart, 
A bud whose depths are all perfume; 

While every garment's gentle stir 

Is breathing rose and lavender. 

The pastor came; his snowy locks 

Hallowed his brow of thought and care; 

And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks, 
He led into the house of prayer. 

Then soon he rose; the prayer was strong; 

The psalm was warrior David's song; 

The text, a few short words of might : 

" The Lord of hosts shall arm the right! " 

He spoke of wrongs too long endured, 

Of sacred rights to be secured ; 



THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING 165 

Then from his patriot tongue of flame 
The startling words for Freedom came. 
The stirring sentences he spake 
Compelled the heart to glow or quake, 
And, rising on his theme's broad wing, 

And grasping in his nervous hand 

The imaginary battle-brand, 
In face of death he dared to fling 
Defiance to a tyrant-king. 

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed 
In eloquence of attitude, 
Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher; 
Then swept his kindling glance of fire 
From startled pew to breathless choir; 
When suddenly his mantle wide 
His hands impatient flung aside, 
And, lo ! he met their wondering eyes 
Complete in all a warrior's guise. 

A moment there was awful pause — 

When Berkley cried, " Cease, traitor! cease; 

God's temple is the house of peace! " 

The other shouted, " Nay, not so, 
When God is with our righteous cause; 
His holiest places then are ours, 
His temples are our forts and towers 

That frown upon the tyrant foe; 
In this, the dawn of Freedom's day, 
There is a time to fight and pray! " 

And now before the open door — 

The warrior priest had ordered so — 
The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar 
Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er, 

Its long reverberating blow, 



1 66 CHAUNCEY MITCHELL DEPEW 

So loud and clear, it seemed the ear 
Of dusty Death must wake and hear. 
And there the startling drum and fife 
Fired the living with fiercer life; 
While overhead, with wild increase, 
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace, 

The great bell swung as ne'er before. 
It seemed as it would never cease; 
And every word its ardor flung 
From off its jubilant iron tongue 

Was " War! war! war! " 

" Who dares" — this was the patriot's cry, 
As striding from the desk he came — 
" Come out with me, in Freedom's name, 
For her to live, for her to die ? " 
A hundred hands flung up reply, 
A hundred voices answered, " I! " 



COLUMBIAN ORATION 

By Chauncey Mitchell Depew, Lawyer, Railroad President; United 
States Senator from New York, 1899 — . Born in Peekskill, N. Y., 
1834. 

From an oration delivered at the opening of the World's Fair, Chicago, October 21 
1892. See " Life and Later Speeches of Chauncey M. Depew," published in 1894, by 
the Cassell Publishing Co., New York, N. Y. 

This day belongs not to America but to the world. The 
results of the day it commemorates are the heritage of the 
peoples of every race and clime. We celebrate the emanci- 
pation of man. The preparation was the work of almost 
countless centuries; the realization was the revelation of 
one. The cross on Calvary was hope; the cross raised on 
San Salvador was opportunity. But for the first Columbus 
would never have sailed; but for the second, there could 
have been no place for the planting, the nurture, the expan- 
sion of civil and religious liberty. Force was the factor in 



COLUMBIAN ORATION 167 

the government of the world when Christ was born, and force 
was the sole source and exercise of authority both for Church 
and State when Columbus sailed from Palos. 

The reign of physical force is one of perpetual struggle for 
the mastery. Power which rests upon the sword neither 
shares nor limits its authority. The king destroyed the 
lords, and the monarchy succeeded feudalism. Neither of 
these institutions considered or consulted the people. They 
had no part but to suffer or die, in this mighty strife of 
masters for the mastery. The dungeon was ready for the 
philosopher who proclaimed the truths of the solar system 
or the navigator who would prove the sphericity of the earth. 
Reason had no seat in spiritual or temporal realms. Punish- 
ment was the incentive to patriotism and piety was held 
possible by torture. For all that humanity to-day cherishes 
as its best heritage and choicest gifts, there was neither 
thought nor hope. 

Fifty years before Columbus sailed from Palos, Gutenberg 
and Faust had forged the hammer which was to break the 
bonds of superstition and open the prison-doors to the 
mind. They had invented the printing-press and movable 
types. The first service of the press, like all its succeeding 
efforts, was for the people. The first-born of the marvelous 
creation of these primitive printers of Mayence was the 
printed Bible. The priceless contributions of Greece and 
Rome to the intellectual training and development of the 
modern world came afterward through the same wondrous 
machine. The force, however, which made possible America, 
and its reflex influence upon Europe, was the open Bible by 
the family fireside. And yet neither the enlightenment of 
the new learning nor the dynamic power of the spiritual 
awakening could break through the crust of caste which had 
been forming for centuries. Church and State had so firmly 
and dexterously interwoven the bars of privilege and authority 
that liberty was impossible from within. Its piercing light 
and fervent heat must penetrate from without. The time 



1 68 CHAUNCEY MITCHELL DEPEIV 

had come for the emancipation of the mind and soul of 
humanity. The factors wanting for its fulfillment were the 
new world and its discoverer. 

God always has in training some commanding genius for 
the control of great crises in the affairs of nations and 
peoples. The number of these leaders are less than the 
centuries, but their lives are the history of human progress. 
Though Caesar and Charlemagne, and Hildebrand and 
Luther, and William the Conqueror and Oliver Cromwell, 
and all the epoch makers prepared Europe for the event, and 
contributed to the result, the lights which illumine our 
firmament to-day are Columbus the discoverer, Washington 
the founder, and Lincoln the savior. 

Neither realism nor romance furnishes a more striking and 
picturesque figure than that of Christopher Columbus. The 
mystery about his origin heightens the charm of his story. 
That he came from among the toilers of his time is in 
harmony with the struggles of our period. The perils of the 
sea in his youth upon the rich argosies of Genoa, or in the 
service of the licensed rovers who made them their prey, had 
developed a skillful navigator and intrepid mariner. To 
secure the means to test the truth of his speculations this 
poor and unknown dreamer must win the support of kings 
and overcome the hostility of the Church. He never doubted 
his ability to do both. His unshakable faith that Christopher 
Columbus was commissioned from Heaven, both by his 
name and by divine command to carry " Christ across the 
sea" to new continents and pagan peoples, lifted him so far 
above the discouragements of an empty purse and a con- 
temptuous court that he was proof against the rebuffs of 
fortune or of friends. To conquer the prejudices of the 
clergy, to win the approval and financial support of the 
State, to venture upon that unknown ocean which, according 
to the beliefs of the age, was peopled with demons and 
savage beasts of frightful shape, and from which there was 
no possibility of return, required the zeal of Peter the 



COLUMBIAN ORATION 169 

Hermit, the chivalric courage of the Cid, and the imagina- 
tion of Dante. 

If interest in the affairs of this world is vouchsafed to 
those who have gone before, the spirit of Columbus hovers 
over us to-day. Only by celestial intelligence can it grasp 
the full significance of this spectacle and ceremonial. 

From the first century to the fifteenth counts but little in 
the history of progress, but into the period between the 
fifteenth and the twentieth is crowded the romance and 
reality of human development. Life has been prolonged 
and its enjoyments intensified. The powers of the air and 
water, the resistless forces of the elements, which in the time 
of the discoverer were visible terrors of the wrath of God, 
have been subdued to the service of man. Art and luxuries 
which could be possessed and enjoyed only by the rich and 
noble, the works of genius which were read and understood 
only by the learned few, domestic comforts and surroundings 
beyond the reach of lord or bishop, now adorn and illumi- 
nate the homes of our citizens. Serfs are sovereigns and the 
people are kings. The trophies and splendors of their reign 
are commonwealths, rich in every attribute of States, and 
united in a Republic whose power and prosperity and liberty 
and enlightenment are the wonder and admiration of the 
world. 

All hail, Columbus, discoverer, dreamer, hero, and apos- 
tle! We here, of every race and country, recognize the 
horizon which bounded his vision and the infinite scope of 
his genius. The voice of gratitude and praise for all the 
blessings which have been showered upon mankind by 
adventure is limited to no language, but is uttered in every 
tongue. Neither marble nor brass can fitly form his statue. 
Continents are his monument, and unnumbered millions, 
past, present, and to come, who enjoy in their liberties and 
their happiness the fruits of his faith, will reverently guard 
and preserve, from century to century, his name and fame. 



17® HENRY CABOT LODGE 



MASSACHUSETTS 

By Henry Cabot Lodge, Lawyer, Editor, Author; Member of Con- 
gress from Massachusetts, 1886-93; Senator, 1893 — . Born in 
Boston, Mass., 1850. 

Taken, by permission of the author, from the closing speech in debate with Hon. 
John E. Russell, in Boston, Mass., October 23, 1891. See "Speeches of Henry- 
Cabot Lodge," copyright 1892, by H. C. Lodge, published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 
Boston. 

To all who dwell within her confines, the old State 
[Massachusetts] is very, very dear. She has a right to our 
love and pride. " Behold her and judge for yourselves." 
Here she is, a queen among commonwealths, enthroned 
amidst her hills and streams, with the ocean at her feet. 
Trade is in her marts and prayer within her temples. Her 
cities stir with busy life. Her wealth grows, beyond the 
dreams of avarice. Her rivers turn the wheels of industry, 
and the smoke of countless chimneys tells the story of the 
inventor's genius and the workman's skill. But the material 
side is the least of it. We rejoice mightily in her prosperity, 
but our love and pride are touched by nobler themes. We 
love the old State. The sand-hills of the Cape, with the 
gulls wheeling over the waste of waters; the gray ledges and 
green pastures of Essex, with the seas surging forever on her 
rocks; the broad and fruitful valleys of the Connecticut; the 
dark hills and murmuring streams of Berkshire, have to us a 
tender charm no other land can give. They breathe to us 
the soft message that tells of home and country. Still it is 
something more than the look of hill and dale, something 
deeper than habit which stirs our hearts when we think of 
Massachusetts. Behind the outward form of things lies that 
which passeth show. It is in the history of Massachusetts, 
in the lives of her great men, in the sacrifices, in the deeds, 
and in the character of her people that we find the true secret 
of our love and pride. We may not explain it even to our- 
selves, but it is there in the good old name, and flushes into 
life at the sight of the white flag. Massachusetts! Utter 



MASSACHUSETTS i 7 1 

but the word and what memories throng upon her children ! 
Here came the stern, God-fearing men to find a home and 
found a State. Here, almost where we stand, on the edge 
of the wilderness, was placed the first public school. 
Yonder, across the river, where the track of the savage still 
lingered and the howl of the wolf was still heard, was planted 
the first college. Here, through years of peril and privation, 
with much error and failure, but ever striving and marching 
onward, the Puritans built their State. It was this old town 
that first resisted England and bared its breast to receive the 
hostile spears. In the fields of Middlesex the first blood was 
shed in the American Revolution, On the slopes of Bunker 
Hill the British troops first recoiled under American fire. 
Massachusetts was the first great Commonwealth to resist 
the advance of slavery, and in the mighty war for the Union 
she had again the sad honor to lay the first blood-offering 
on the altar of the nation. This is the State that Winthrop 
founded. Warren died for her liberties, and Webster 
defended her good name. Sumner bore stripes in behalf of 
her beliefs, and her sons gave their lives on every battlefield 
for the one flag she held more sacred than her own. She 
has fought for liberty. She has done justice between man 
and man. She has sought to protect the weak, to save the 
erring, to raise the unfortunate. She has been the fruitful 
mother of ideas as of men. Her thought has followed the 
sun and been felt throughout the length of the land. May 
we not say, as Charles Fox said of Switzerland, " Every man 
should desire once in his life to make a pilgrimage to 
Massachusetts, the land of liberty and peace ' ' ? She has 
kept her shield unspotted and her honor pure. To us, her 
loving children, she is a great heritage and a great trust. 



172 W 'ILL C A RLE TON 



THE DEATH-BRIDGE OF THE TAY 

By Will Carleton, Lecturer, Journalist, Author, Poet. Born in 
Hudson, Mich., 1845; living in Brooklyn, N. Y. 

From " Farm Festivals," by Will Carleton. Copyright, 1881, 1898, by Harper & 
Brothers, New York. 

The night and the storm fell together upon the old town of 

Dundee, 
And, trembling, the mighty firth-river held out its cold hand 

toward the sea. 
Like the dull-booming bolts of a cannon, the wind swept 

the streets and the shores; 
It wrenched at the roofs and the chimneys, it crashed 'gainst 

the windows and doors; 
Like a mob that is drunken and frenzied, it surged through 

the streets up and down, 
And screamed the sharp, shrill cry of " Murder! " o'er river 

and hill-top and town. 
It leaned its great breast 'gainst the belfries, it perched upon 

minaret and dome — 
Then sprang on the shivering firth-river, and tortured its 

waves into foam. 
'Twas a night when the landsman seeks shelter, and cares 

not to venture abroad; 
When the sailor clings close to the rigging, and prays for 

the mercy of God. 

Along the shore-line creeps the city, in crouching and 

sinuous shape, 
With firesides so soon to be darkened, and doors to be 

shaded with crape! 
To the south, like a spider-thread waving, there curves, for 

a two-mile away, 
This world's latest man-devised wonder, — the far-famous 

bridge of the Tay. 



THE DEATH-BRIDGE OF THE TAY 173 

It stretches and gleams into distance; it creeps the broad 

stream o'er and o'er, 
Till it rests its strong, delicate fingers in the palm of the 

opposite shore. 
But look! through the mists of the southward, there flash to 

the eye, clear and plain, 
Like a meteor that's bound to destruction, the lights of a 

swift-coming train ! 



'Mid the lights that so gayly are gleaming yon city of 

Dundee within, 
Is one that is waiting a wanderer, who long o'er the ocean 

has been. 
His age-burdened parents are watching from the window 

that looks on the firth, 
For the train that will come with their darling, — their truest- 
loved treasure on earth. 
" He'll be comin' the nicht, " says the father, " for sure the 

handwritin's his ain; 
The letter says, ' Ha' the lamp lichted — I'll come on the 

seven-o'clock train. 
For years in the mines I've been toiling, in this wonderfu' 

West, o'er the sea; 
My work has brought kingly wages; there's plenty for you 

an' for me. 
Your last days shall e'en be your best days; the high- 
stepping youngster you knew, 
Who cost so much care in his raising, now'll care for himself 

and for you. 
Gang not to the station to meet me; ye never need run for 

me more; 
But when ye shall hear the gate clickit, ye maun rise up an' 

open the door. 
We will hae the first glow of our greeting when nae one o' 

strangers be nigh, 



174 WILL CARLETON 

We will smile out the joy o' our meeting on the spot where 

we wept our good-bye. 
Ye maun put me a plate on the table, an' set in the auld 

place a chair; 
An' if but the good Lord be willing, doubt never a bit I'll 

be there. 
So sit ye an' wait for my coming (ye will na' watch for me 

in vain), 
An' see me glide over the river, along o' the roar of the train. 
Ye may sit at the southernmost window, for I will come 

hame from that way; 
I will fly where I swam, when a youngster, across the broad 

Firth o' the Tay. ' " 

So they sit at the southernmost window, the parents, with 
hand clasped in hand, 

And gaze o'er the tempest-vexed waters, across to the 
storm-shaken land. 

They see the bold acrobat-monster creep out on the treacher- 
ous line; 

Its cinder-breath glitters like star-dust, its lamp-eyes they 
glimmer and shine. 

It braces itself 'gainst the tempest — it fights for each inch 
with the foe — 

With torrents of air all around it — with torrents of water 
below. 

But look ! look ! the monster is stumbling, while trembles 
the fragile bridge-wall — 

They struggle like athletes entwining — then both like a 
thunderbolt fall ! 

Down, down through the dark the train plunges, with speed 
unaccustomed and dire; 

It glows with its last dying beauty — it gleams like a hail- 
storm of fire ! 

No wonder the mother faints death-like, and clings like a 
clod to the floor; 



THE DEATH-BRIDGE OF THE TAY 175 

No wonder the man writhes in frenzy, and dashes his way 

through the door! 
He fights his way out through the tempest; he is beaten and 

baffied and tossed; 
He cries, "The train's gang off the Tay brig! lend help 

here to look for the lost ! ' ' 
Oh, little to him do they listen, the crowds to the river that 

flee; 
The news, like the shock of an earthquake, has thrilled 

through the town of Dundee. 
Like travelers belated, they're rushing to where the bare 

station-walls frown; 
Suspense twists the blade of their anguish, like maniacs they 

run up and down. 
Out, out, creep two brave, sturdy fellows, o'er danger- strewn 

buttress and piers; 
They can climb 'gainst that blast, for they carry the blood 

of old Scotch mountaineers. 
But they leave it along as they clamber; they mark all their 

hand-path with red; 
Till they come where the torrent leaps bridgeless, — a grave 

dancing over its dead. 
A moment they gaze down in horror; then creep from the 

death-laden tide, 
With the news, " There's nae help for our loved ones, save 

God's mercy for them who have died! " 

How sweetly the sunlight can sparkle o'er graves where our 
best hopes have lain ! 

How brightly its gold beams can glisten on faces that whiten 
with pain! 

Oh, never more gay were the wavelets, and careless in inno- 
cent glee, 

And never more sweet did the sunrise shine over the town 
of Dundee. 



176 IV ILL CARLE TON 

But though the town welcomed the morning, and the firth 

threw its gold lances back, 
On the hearts of the grief-stricken people death's cloud 

rested heavy and black. 
And the couple who waited last evening their man-statured 

son to accost, 
Now laid their heads down on the table, and mourned for 

the boy that was lost. 
; 'Twas sae sad, " moaned the crushed, aged mother, each 

word dripping o'er with a tear, 
" Sae far he should come for to find us, and then he should 

perish sae near! 

Robin, my bairn ! ye did wander far from us for mony a 

day, 
And when ye ha' come back sae near us, why could na' ye 
come a' the way ? " 

" I hae come a' the way," said a strong voice, and a bearded 

and sun-beaten face 
Smiled on them the first joyous pressure of one long and 

filial embrace: 
" I cam' on last nicht far as Newport; but Maggie, my bride 

that's to be, 
She ran through the storm to the station, to get the first 

greeting o' me. 

1 leaped from the carriage to kiss her; she held me sae fast 

and sae ticht, 
The train it ran off and did leave me; I could na' get over 

the nicht. 
I tried for to walk the brig over, my head it was a' in a 

whirl ; 
I could na' — ye know the sad reason — I had to go back to 

my girl ! 
I hope ye' 11 tak' kindly to Maggie; she's promised to soon 

be my wife; 



AGENCIES IN OUR NATIONAL PROGRESS 177 

She's a darling wee bit of a lassie, and her fondness it saved 
me my life. ' ' 

The night and the storm fell together upon the sad town of 

Dundee; 
The half-smothered song of the tempest swept out like a sob 

to the sea; 
The voice of the treacherous storm-king, as mourning for 

them he had slain; 
O cruel and bloodthirsty tempest ! your false tears are shed 

all in vain! 

Thank God that whatever the darkness that covers His 

creature's dim sight, 
He always vouchsafes some deliverance, throws some one a 

sweet ray of light ; 
Thank God that His well-tempered mercy came down with 

the clouds from above, 
And saved one from out the destruction, and him by the 

angel of love. 

AGENCIES IN OUR NATIONAL PROGRESS 

By Alexander Kelly McClure, Editor, Lawyer, Statesman, Author; 
Editor-in-Chief of Philadelphia Times, 1873 — • 

From an address before the literary societies of Dickinson College, June 26, 1873. 
See Cooper's " American Politics," published in 1883 by The Fireside Publishing Co., 
Philadelphia, Penn. By permission of the author. 

When we search for the agencies of the great epochs in 
our national progress, we look not to the accidents of place. 
Unlike all other governments, ours is guided supremely by 
intelligent and educated public convictions, and those who 
are clothed with authority are but the exponents of the pop- 
ular will. Herein is the source of safety and advancement 
of our free institutions. On every hand, in the ranks of 
people, are the tireless teachers of our destiny. Away in the 
forefront of every struggle are to be found the masters who 



I7 8 ALEXANDER KELLY McCLURE 

brave passion and prejudice and interest, in the perfection 
of our nationality. 

Our free press reaching into almost every hamlet of the 
land; our colleges now reared in every section; our schools 
with open doors to all ; our churches teaching every faith, 
with the protection of the law; our citizens endowed with 
the sacred right of freedom of speech and action; our rail- 
roads spanning the continent, climbing our mountains, and 
stretching into our valleys; our telegraphs making every 
community the center of the world's daily records — these are 
the agencies which are omnipotent in the expression of our 
national purposes and duties. Thus directed and main- 
tained, our free government has braved foreign and domestic 
war, and been purified and strengthened in the crucible of 
conflict. It has grown from a few feeble States east of the 
Ohio wilderness to a vast continent of commonwealths, and 
forty millions of population. It has made freedom as uni- 
versal as its authority within its vast possessions. The laws 
of inequality and caste are blotted from its statutes. It 
reaches the golden slopes of the Pacific with its beneficence, 
and makes beauty and plenty in the valleys of the mountains 
on the sunset side of the Father of Waters. From the cool 
lakes of the North to the sunny gulfs of the South, and from 
the eastern seas to the waters that wash the lands of the 
pagan, a homogeneous people obey one constitution and 
are devoted to one country. 

Nor have its agencies and influences been limited to our 
own boundaries. The whole accessible world has felt its 
power and paid tribute to its excellence. Europe has been 
convulsed from center to circumference by the resistless 
throbbings of oppressed peoples for the liberty they cannot 
know and could not maintain. The proud Briton has 
imitated his wayward but resolute child, and now rules his 
own throne. France has sung the Marseillaise, her anthem 
of freedom, and waded through blood in ill-directed struggles 
for her disenthrallment. The scattered tribes of the Father- 



THE POWER OF HABIT 179 

land now worship at the altar of German unity, with a 
liberalized Empire. The sad song of the serf is no longer 
heard from the children of the Czar. Italy, dismembered 
and tempest-tossed through centuries, again ordains her laws 
in the Eternal City, under a monarch of her choice. The 
throne and the inspiration of freedom has unsettled the title 
of despotism to the Spanish scepter. The trained lightning 
flashes the lessons of our civilization to the home of the 
Pyramids; the land of the heathen has our teachers in its 
desolate places, and the God of Day sets not upon the 
boundless triumphs of our government of the people. 



THE POWER OF HABIT 

By John Bartholomew Gough, celebrated Temperance Lecturer. 
Born in Sandgate, England, 1817; died at Frankford, Penn., 1886. 

Reprinted, by permission of the publishers, from *' Platform Echoes," copyright 
1887, by A. D. Worthington & Co., Hartford, Conn. 

I remember once riding from Buffalo to the Niagara Falls. 
I said to a gentleman, " What river is that, sir ? " " That," 
he said, " is the Niagara River." " Well, it is a beautiful 
stream, ' ' said I, ' ' bright, and fair, and glassy. How far off 
are the rapids ? " " Only a mile or two, ' ' was the reply. 
" Is it possible that only one mile from us we shall find the 
water in the turbulence which it must show near to the 
Falls ? " " You will find it so, sir." 

And so I found it; and the first sight of Niagara Falls I 
shall never forget. 

Now launch your bark on that Niagara River; it is bright, 
smooth, beautiful, and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow ; 
the silver wake you leave behind adds to your enjoyment. 
Down the stream you glide, oars, sails, and helm in proper 
trim; and you set out on your pleasure excursion. Suddenly 
some one cries out from the bank, ' ' Young men, ahoy ! ' ' 

" What is it ? " 

" The rapids are below you." 



180 JOHN BARTHOLOMEW GO UGH 

" Ha, ha! We have heard of the rapids; but we are not 
such fools as to get there. If we go too fast, then we shall 
up with the helm, and steer to the shore; we will set the 
mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and speed to the land. 
Then on, boys; don't be alarmed; there is no danger." 

1 ' Young men, ahoy, there ! ' ' 

" What is it ? " 

" The rapids are below you! " 

" Ha, ha! We shall laugh and quaff; all things delight 
us. What care we for the future ? No man ever saw it. 
Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. We will enjoy life 
while we may; will catch pleasure as it flies. This is enjoy- 
ment ; time enough to steer out of danger when we are sail- 
ing swiftly with the current." 

" Young men, ahoy! " 

' ' What is it ? " 

"Beware! beware! The rapids are below you. " 

Now you see the water foaming all around. See how fast 
you pass that point ! Up with the helm ! Now turn. Pull 
hard! quick! quick! quick! pull for your lives; pull till the 
blood starts from your nostrils, and the veins stand like 
whip-cords upon your brow. Set the mast in the socket! 
Hoist the sail ! Ah! ah! it is too late! Shrieking, cursing, 
howling, blaspheming, over they go. 

Thousands go over the rapids every year, through the 
power of habit, crying all the while, " When I find out that 
it is injuring me, I will give it up." 

We see sometimes, on our city streets, placards posted, 
"Lost! Lost! Lost!" And I stop sometimes to think 
of the cherished treasure that is gone, the heartache at its 
loss, the longing for its return. On those same streets we 
hear sometimes, in the calm of the evening's deepening 
twilight, the ringing of the crier's bell, and his shrill voice, 
shouting, "Child lost! Child lost!" Yes! a child lost, 
away from the comfort and brightness of home, gone from 
the father's smile and the mother's fond embrace, strayed 



O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! ioi 

oat into the night, alone, amid its dreary, coming blackness. 
But the lost treasure is merely material; and the child is still 
in the pathway of loving humanity, still within the enfolding 
arms of an all-loving God. 

But the drunkards! Lost! lost! lost! fathers, brothers, 
husbands, sons, lost to friends, to families, to loved ones, 
to society; lost to the world, to the church; and lost, for- 
ever lost, from the circle of the redeemed that shall gather 
around God's throne — over the rapids, and lost. 



O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 

By Walt Whitman, Poet. Born at West Hills, Long Island, N. Y., 
1819; died at Camden, N. J., 1892. 

This poem, as is well known, refers to Abraham Lincoln. By permission of pub- 
lisher, David McKay, Philadelphia. 

O captain ! my captain ! our fearful trip is done, 

The ship has weathered every rock, the prize we sought is 

won. 
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, 
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; 

But O heart! heart! heart! 

O the bleeding drops of red, 

Where on the deck my captain lies, 

Fallen cold and dead. 

O captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells; 

Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills, 

For you bouquets and ribbon' d wreaths — for you the shores 

a-crowding, 
For you the call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning: 

Hear captain! dear father! 

This arm beneath your head ! 

It is some dream there on the deck, 

You've fallen cold and dead. 



182 GEORGE LIPPARD 

My captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, 
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, 
The ship is anchor' d safe and sound, its voyage closed and 

done, 
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; 

Exult O shores, and ring O bells! 

But I with mournful tread, 

Walk the deck my captain lies, 

Fallen cold and dead. 



THE RIDER OF THE BLACK HORSE 

By George Lippard, Author. Born near Yellow Springs, Perm. , 1822; 
died in Philadelphia, 1854. 

It was the 7th of October, 1777. Horatio Gates stood 
before his tent, gazing steadfastly upon the two armies now 
arrayed in order of battle. It was a clear, bracing day, 
mellow with the richness of autumn. The sky was cloud- 
less; the foliage of the wood scarce tinged with purple and 
gold; the buckwheat in yonder fields frostened into snowy 
ripeness. But the tread of legions shook the ground; from 
every bush shot the glimmer of the rifle barrel; on every 
hillside blazed the sharpened bayonet. Gates was sad and 
thoughtful, as he watched the evolutions of the two armies. 
But all at once, a smoke arose, a thunder shook the ground, 
and a chorus of shouts and groans yelled along the darkened 
air. The play of death had begun. The two flags, this of 
the stars, that of the red cross, tossed amid the smoke of 
battle, while the sky was clouded with leaden folds, and the 
earth throbbed with the pulsations of a mighty heart. 

Suddenly, Gates and his officers were startled. Along the 
height on which they stood came a rider on a black horse, 
rushing towards the distant battle. There was something in 
the appearance of this horse and his rider that struck them 
with surprise. Look! he draws his sword, the sharp blade 
quivers through the air — he points to the distant battle, and 



THE RIDER OF THE BLACK HORSE 183 

lo! he is gone; gone through those clouds, while his shout 
echoes over the plains. Wherever the fight is thickest, there 
through intervals of cannon-smoke you may see riding 
madly forward that strange soldier, mounted on his steed 
black as death. Look at him, as with face red with British 
blood he waves his sword and shouts to his legions. Now 
you may see him fighting in that cannon's glare, and the 
next moment he is away off yonder, leading the forlorn hope 
up that steep cliff. Is it not a magnificent sight, to see that 
strange soldier and that noble black horse dashing, like a 
meteor, down the long columns of battle ? 

Let us look for a moment into those dense war-clouds. 
Over this thick hedge bursts a band of American militiamen, 
their rude farmer-coats stained with blood, while scattering 
their arms by the way, they flee before that company of red- 
coat hirelings, who come rushing forward, their solid front 
of bayonets gleaming in the battle light. At this moment 
of their flight, a horse comes crashing over the plains. The 
unknown rider reins his steed back on his haunches, right 
in the path of a broad-shouldered militiaman. " Now, 
cowards! advance another step and I'll strike you to the 
heart! " shouts the unknown, extending a pistol in either 
hand. ' ' What ! are you Americans, men, and fly before 
British soldiers ? Back again, and face them once more, or 
I myself will ride you down." 

This appeal was not without its effect. The militiaman 
turns; his comrades, as if by one impulse, follow his exam- 
ple. In one line, but thirty men in all, they confront thirty 
sharp bayonets. The British advance. " Now upon the 
rebels, charge! " shouts the red-coat officer. They spring 
forward at the same bound. Look ! their bayonets almost 
touch the muzzles of their rifles. At this moment the voice 
of the unknown rider was heard: "Now let them have it! 
Fire! " A sound is heard, a smoke is seen, twenty Britons 
are down, some writhing in death, some crawling along the 
soil, and some speechless as stone. The remaining ten start 



1 84 GEORGE LIPPARD 

back. " Club your rifles and charge them home! " shouts 
the unknown. That black horse springs forward, followed 
by the militiamen. Then a confused conflict, a cry for 
quarter, and a vision of twenty farmers grouped around the 
rider of the black horse, greeting him with cheers. 

Thus it was all the day long. Wherever that black horse 
and his rider went, there followed victory. At last, towards 
the setting of the sun, the crisis of the conflict came. That 
fortress yonder, on Bemus' Heighrs, must be won, or the 
American cause is lost ! That cliff is too steep — that death 
is too certain. The officers cannot persuade the men to 
advance. The Americans have lost the field. Even Morgan, 
that iron man among iron men, leans on his rifle and 
despairs of the field. But look yonder! In this moment 
when all is dismay and horror, here crashing on, comes the 
black horse and his rider. That rider bends upon his steed, 
his frenzied face covered with sweat and dust and blood; he 
lays his hand upon that bold rifleman's shoulder and as 
though living fire had been poured into his veins, he seizes 
his rifle and starts toward the rock. And now look ! now 
hold your breath, as that black steed crashes up that steep 
cliff. That steed quivers! he totters! he falls! No! No! 
Still on, still up the cliff, still on towards the fortress. The 
rider turns his face and shouts, ' ' Come on, men of Quebec ! 
come on! " That call is needless. Already the bold rifle- 
men are on the rock. Now British cannon pour your fires, 
and lay your dead in tens and twenties on the rock. Now, 
red-coat hirelings, shout your battle-cry if you can! For 
look ! there, in the gate of the fortress, as the smoke clears 
away, stands the black horse and his rider. That steed 
falls dead, pierced by an hundred balls; but his rider, as the 
British cry for quarter, lifts up his voice and shouts afar to 
Horatio Gates waiting yonder in his tent, " Saratoga is 
won! " As that cry goes up to heaven, he falls with his leg 
shattered by a cannon-ball. 

Who was the rider of the black horse ? Do you not guess 



AGAINST IMPERIALISM 185 

his name ? Then bend down and gaze on that shattered 
limb ; and you will see that it bears the mark of a former 
wound. The wound was received in the storming of 
Quebec. The rider of the black horse was Benedict Arnold. 



AGAINST IMPERIALISM 

By George Frisbie Hoar, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Massa- 
chusetts, 1868-76; Senator, 1877—. Born in Concord, Mass., 1826. 

From a speech delivered in the Senate, April 17, 1900. See daily papers of Boston, 
April 18, 1900; also Congressional Record, April 17, 1900. 

It is claimed that these appeals for imperialism have the 
sympathy of the American people. It is said that the states- 
man who will lay his ear to the ground will hear their voice. 
I do not believe it. The voice of the American people does 
not come from the ground. It comes from the sky. It 
comes from the free air. It comes from the mountains, 
where liberty dwells. Let the statesman who is fit to deal 
with the question of liberty or to utter the voice of a free 
people lift his ear to the sky — not lay it to the ground. 

Mr. President, it was once my good fortune to witness an 
impressive spectacle in this chamber, when the senators 
answered to their names in rendering solemn judgment in a 
great State trial. By a special provision each senator was 
permitted, when he cast his vote, to state his reason in a 
single sentence. I have sometimes fancied that the question 
before us now might be decided not alone by the votes of 
us who sit here to-day, but of the great men who have been 
our predecessors in this chamber and in the Continental 
Congress from the beginning of the Republic. 

Would that that roll might be called. The solemn 
assembly sits silent while the chair puts the question whose 
answer is so fraught with the hopes of liberty and the destiny 
of the Republic. 

The roll is called. George Washington : ' ' No. Why 
should we quit our own, to stand on foreign ground ? " 



1 86 GEORGE FRISBIE HOAR 

Alexander Hamilton: "No. The Declaration of Inde- 
pendence is the fundamental constitution of every State." 

Thomas Jefferson: " No. Governments are instituted 
among men deriving their just powers from the consent of 
the governed. Every people ought to have that separate 
and equal station among the nations of the world to which 
the laws of nature and of nature's God entitle them." 

John Adams: "No. I stood by the side of Jefferson 
when he brought in the Declaration ; I was its champion on 
the floor of Congress. After our long estrangement, I come 
back to his side again. " 

Thomas Corwin: " No. I said in the days of the Mexi- 
can war: ' If I were a Mexican, as I am an American, I 
would welcome you with bloody hands to hospitable graves ' ; 
and Ohio to-day honors and loves me for that utterance 
beyond all her other sons." 

Daniel Webster: " No. Under our constitution there 
can be no dependencies. ... A nation cannot be happy 
but under a government of its own choice. When I depart 
from these sentiments I depart from myself. ' ' 

Abraham Lincoln: "No. I said in Independence Hall 
at Philadelphia, just before I entered upon my great office, 
that I rested upon the truth Thomas Jefferson has just 
uttered, and that I was ready to be assassinated, if need be, 
in order to maintain it. And I was assassinated in order to 
maintain it. " 

Mr. President, I know how feeble is a single voice amid 
this din and tempest, this delirium of empire. It may be 
that the battle for this day is lost. But I have an assured 
faith in the future. I have an assured faith in justice and 
the love of liberty of the American people. The stars in 
their courses fight for freedom. The ruler of the heavens is 
on that side. If the battle to-day go against it, I appeal to 
another day, not distant and sure to come. I appeal from 
the clapping of hands and the stamping of feet and the 



OUR RICH HERITAGE 187 

brawling and the shouting to the quiet chamber where the 
fathers gathered in Philadelphia. 

I appeal from the spirit of trade to the spirit of liberty. 
I appeal from the empire to the Republic. I appeal from 
the millionaire, and the boss, and the wire-puller, and the 
manager to the statesman of the older time, in whose eyes a 
guinea never glistened, who lived and died poor, and who 
left to his children and to his countrymen a good name far 
better than riches. I appeal from the present, bloated with 
material prosperity, drunk with the lust of empire, to 
another and a better age. I appeal from the present to the 
future and to the past. 



OUR RICH HERITAGE 

By John Mellen Thurston, Lawyer; Senator from Nebraska, 1895 — . 
Born at Montpelier, Vt., 1847. 

What is the heritage that has come down to us from the 
turbulent days of Lincoln's administration ? On the his- 
torical field of Gettysburg Lincoln said, " A government of 
the people, by the people, for the people." 

A government of the people so broad that it offers land, 
liberty, and labor to the downtrodden and oppressed of 
every clime; so strong that the sheathed swords of its citizen 
soldiers need never again be drawn to protect it from foes 
without or dissensions within; so just, that the blind goddess 
of its temples holds in equal poise the scales that measure 
out the rights and privileges and powers of all; so liberal, 
that in its sky the spires of every faith may find a place, and 
by its altars individual conscience fears not Church nor 
State; so wise in crafts of statesmanship, in policies of 
government and enacted laws, that all its industries and 
arts, ennobled by invention, stimulated by intelligence and 
zeal, flourish and prosper beyond compare; so well beloved, 
that the bright bayonet of its honor is in every American 
hand, and the certain bulwark of its safety in every American 



1 88 JOHN MELLEN THURSTON 

heart. Its cities grow and thrive; its fertile fields increase; 
its inland commerce quickens all the land through arteries 
of steel; its white sails spread to catch the favoring breeze 
of every sea; its whirling spindles and its tireless wheels 
make merry music by every stream ; its silver forests and its 
golden hills are inexhaustible treasuries of national wealth; 
the schoolhouse is the pride of every village, and happy 
motherhood the crown of every home. 

This government is by the people. In it the unit of 
political power is individual citizenship. Under its consti- 
tution every citizen must be given equal voice in the form- 
ulation of laws, and in the selection of those who are to 
administer and enforce them; every avenue of preferment 
must be fairly open to all. 

There are some who profess to believe that the rights and 
privileges of citizenship should be denied to the foreign- 
born. But in the hour when the Republic asked for brawny 
arms to bear its muskets, and willing feet to march beneath 
its flag, how many a volunteer made answer in his mother 
tongue, first learned on vineclad hills or by the Zuyder Zee ? 
How many a dying patriot, with his latest breath, blessed 
Erin's wave-kissed shore ? Every man who loved our 
country well enough to fight for it; every man who is willing 
to abandon for it his childhood home; every man who longs 
for the blessings of liberty, and is ready to support our con- 
stitution and obey our laws, is fitted to participate in a 
government by the people. 

This is a government "for the people." 

So framed and carried on that the stimulus of its possible 
reward rouses humanity to its best endeavors. Its history 
is replete with the name of those who, from the lowest con- 
dition, have risen to the highest station. On its great 
highway the barefoot boy may distance the golden chariot 
of ancestral wealth. 



HERVE RIEL 189 



HERVE RIEL 

By Robert Browning, Poet. Born in Camberwell, England, 1812; 
died in Venice, Italy, 1889. 

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, 
Did the English fight the French ; — woe to France ! 

And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, 

Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks 
pursue. 
Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Ranee, 

With the English fleet in view. 

'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full 
chase, 
First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfre- 
ville; 
Close on him fled, great and small, 
Twenty-two good ships in all; 
And they signaled to the place, 
" Help the winners of a race! 

Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick, — or, 

quicker still, 
Here's the English can and will! " 

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on 
board. 
' ' Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to 
pass ? " laughed they; 
" Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred 
and scored, 
Shall the Formidable here, with her twelve and eighty 
guns, 
Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, 
Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty 
tons, 



190 ROBERT BROWNING 

And with flow at full beside ? 

Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide. 
Reach the mooring ? Rather say, 
While rock stands or water runs, 
Not a ship will leave the bay! " 

Then was called a council straight; 
Brief and bitter the debate: 

" Here's the English at our heels; would you have them 

take in tow 
All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and 
bow, 
For a prize to Plymouth Sound ? 
Better run the ships aground ! ' ' 
(Ended Damfreville his speech.) 
' ' Not a minute more to wait ! 
Let the captains all and each 

Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the 
beach ! 
France must undergo her fate. 

'* Give the word! " But no such word 
Was ever spoke or heard ; 

For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these, 
A captain ? A lieutenant ? A mate, — first, second, third ? 
No such man of mark, and meet 
With his betters to compete ! 

But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the 
fleet, — 
A poor coasting pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese. 
And " What mockery or malice have we here ? " cries Herve 
Riel ; 
" Are you mad, you Malouins ? Are you cowards, fools, 
or rogues ? 
Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the sound- 
ings, tell 






HERVE R1EL 191 

On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell 

'Twixt the offing here and Greve, where the river disem- 
bogues ? 
Are you bought by English gold ? Is it love the lying's for ? 
Morn and eve, night and day, 
Have I piloted your bay, 
Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. 

Burn the fleet, and ruin France ? That were worse than 
fifty Hogues! 
Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me, 
there's a way! 
Only let me lead the line, 

Have the biggest ship to steer, 
Get this Formidable clear, 
Make the others follow mine, 

And I lead them most and least by a passage I know well, 
Right to Solidor, past Greve, 

And there lay them safe and sound; 
And if one ship misbehave, — 

Keel so much as grate the ground, — 
Why, I've nothing but my life; here's my head!" cries 
Herve Riel. 

Not a minute more to wait. 

' ' Steer us in, then, small and great ! 

Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron! " cried 
its chief. 
Captains, give the sailor place! 
He is Admiral, in brief. 

Still the north-wind, by God's grace. 
See the noble fellow's face 
As the big ship, with a bound, 
Clears the entry like a hound, 

Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's 
profound ! 
See, safe through shoal and rock, 
How they follow in a flock. 



192 ROBERT BROWNING 

Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the 
ground, 
Not a spar that comes to grief! 
The peril, see, is past, 
All are harbored to the last; 

And just as Herve Riel halloos " Anchor! "—sure as fate, 
Up the English come, too late. 

So the storm subsides to calm; 

They see the green trees wave 

On the heights overlooking Greve: 
Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. 
" Just our rapture to enhance, 

Let the English rake the bay, 
Gnash their teeth and glare askance 

As they cannonade away! 
Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Ranee! " 
How hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance! 
Outbursts all with one acccord, 

' ' This is Paradise for Hell ! 
Let France, let France's king 
Thank the man that did the thing! " 
What a shout, and all one word, 

" Herve Riel!" 
As he stepped in front once more, 

Not a symptom of surprise 

In the frank blue Breton eyes, 
Just the same man as before. 

Then said Damfreville, " My friend, 
I must speak out at the end, 

Though I find the speaking hard : 
Praise is deeper than the lips; 
You have saved the king his ships, 

You must name your own reward. 
Faith, our sun was near eclipse! 
Demand whate'er you will, 









HERVE RIEL 193 

France remains your debtor still. 

Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not 
Damfreville. ' ' 

Then a beam of fun outbroke 
On the bearded mouth that spoke, 
As the honest heart laughed through 
Those frank eyes of Breton blue: 
' ' Since I needs must say my say, 

Since on board the duty's done, 

And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a 
run ? — 
Since 'tis ask and have I may, — 

Since the others go ashore, — 
Come ! A good whole holiday ! 

Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the BeHe 
Aurore! " 

That he asked, and that he got, — nothing more. 

Name and deed alike are lost; 
Not a pillar nor a post 

In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell ■ 
Not a head in white and black 
On a single fishing smack 
In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack 

All that France saved from the fight whence England bore 
the bell. 
Go to Paris; rank on rank 

Search the heroes flung pell-mell 
On the Louvre, face and flank; 

You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve Riel. 
So, for better and for worse, 
Herve Riel, accept my verse! 
In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more 
Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Belle 
Aurore. 



194 THOMAS BRACKETT REED 



TO THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC 

By Thomas Brackett Reed, Lawyer, Statesman ; Member of Congress 
from Maine, 1877-99. Speaker of the 51st, 54th, and 55th Congresses. 
Born in Portland, Me., 1839; resides in New York City. 
An address delivered at Grand Army Reunion, Old Orchard, Maine, August 7, 1884. 

Comrades of the Grand Army of the Republic: — As a 
tribute to your worth and to your services, this vast and 
splendid audience, the largest on which my eye ever rested, 
surpasses any speeches we can possibly make. Free from 
all taint of ulterior purpose, spontaneous, natural as the 
tidal march of the ocean on the shore, it is a great throb of 
the popular heart beating in recognition of you and of your 
deeds. And why should not this throng of human beings 
pour from every hill and valley ? They come to do honor 
to those noble qualities which have made human history in 
the past and human progress in the future possible. They 
are honoring their own better natures, their own higher 
attributes. War is a terrible misfortune, but some of the 
rarest virtues of humanity are evolved out of that crucible, 
white with the blinding heat of passion. All men rise to 
honor self-sacrifice, that noble quality which lifts us beyond 
our little personality and makes us part of the warp and woof 
of that race which has made the whole world blossom like 
the rose. All men rise to honor courage; not that brute 
fearlessness, born of ignorance and of the flesh, but that 
nobler courage, born of the soul, which faces not only death, 
but the long and terrible marches, the fever of wounds, the 
depression of defeat, and all the frightful experiences of that 
weary road which led to the glorious citadel of liberty, over 
which floats to-day in the serene upper air the flag of a land 
that knows no slave again forever. When Frederick the 
Great led his mighty army to the conquest of Silesia, his 
battalions marched and fought and conquered by the vigor 
of a discipline which had gone on for a quarter of a century. 



TO THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC 195 

When the troops of the German Empire set out for the cam- 
paign of Sadowa, a lifetime devoted to the exercises of war 
had made of them a machine fit to execute the will of 
despotic power. Not thus your march. Out of the midst 
of your fellow citizens you stepped. The sight of human 
blood had never filled your eyes. You went, not as 
machines, but as men, to execute your own will and the will 
of the people. And when your work was done, silently, 
like the subsidence of one of the great forces of nature, you 
took your places among your fellow men to help produce 
for them and yourselves the comforts and necessities of life. 
Upon no grander spectacle has human history ever looked ! 
What you have done and suffered has not gone without its 
recompense. It is ordained in the providence of God that 
good deeds contain the germ of their own reward. Another 
day than this has been consecrated to the memory of the 
dead; this day is consecrated to the tender companionship 
and fraternity of the living. What is the best good of life ? 
It is not high station, or high honors. My friend who sits 
there [Mr. Blaine], who has had them all, will tell you that 
good-fellowship of friends and hearty comradeship is better 
than all place and fame. To be interlaced one with another 
in thoughts and hopes and sympathies is to become part 
and parcel of that eternal humanity which is so much greater 
and nobler than any of us poor atoms. Comrades, you have 
been welded together by the white heat of battle! To have 
lived together, to have suffered together, to have had great 
thoughts and to have done great deeds together, what solider 
foundation of friendship can there be on earth ? It must 
outlast all time, and if it be true that on the other shore we 
take our characters and friendships where we leave them 
here, the great possibilities of reward in the future will 
transcend our highest hopes and our loftiest words. 



196 ABRAHAM LINCOLN 



DEDICATION OF GETTYSBURG CEMETERY 

By Abraham Lincoln, Lawyer, Statesman; President of the United 
States, 1861-65. Born in Hardin County, Kentucky, 1809; died in 
Washington, D. C, 1865. 

Delivered November 19, 1863, at the dedication of the cemetery in which were buried 
those slain in the battle of Gettysburg. 

Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth 
upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and 
dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. 
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether 
that nation — or any nation so conceived and so dedicated — 
can long endure. 

We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We are 
met to dedicate a portion of it as the final resting-place of 
those who have given their lives that that nation might live. 
It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. 

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot 
consecrate, we cannot hallow, this ground. The brave 
men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated 
it, far above our power to add or to detract. The world will 
very little note nor long remember what we say here; but it 
can never forget what they did here. 

It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the 
unfinished work they have thus far so nobly carried on. It 
is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task 
remaining before us; that from these honored dead we take 
increased devotion to that cause for which they here gave the 
last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that 
these dead shall not have died in vain; that the nation shall, 
under God, have a new birth of freedom, and that govern- 
ment of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not 
perish from the earth. 



TRUE AMERICANISM 197 



TRUE AMERICANISM 



By Henry Cabot Lodge, Lawyer, Editor, Author; Member of Congress 
from Massachusetts, 1886-93; Senator, 1893 — . Born in Boston, 
Mass., 1850. 

Taken, by permission of the author, from a speech delivered at a dinner of the New 
England Society in the City of New York, Dec. 22, 1884. See " Speeches of Henry 
Cabot Lodge," copyright 1892, by H. C. Lodge, published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 
Boston. 

Mr. President, I am coming very close to what is called 
Americanism, but of Americanism of the right sort we cannot 
in this day and generation have too much. Mere vaporing 
and boasting become a nation as little as a man. But 
honest, outspoken pride and faith in our country are 
infinitely better and more to be respected than the cultivated 
reserve which sets it down as ill-bred and in bad taste ever 
to refer to our country except by way of depreciation, criti- 
cism, or general negation. • The Puritans did great work in 
the world because they believed most fervently in their 
cause, their country, and themselves. It is the same to-day. 
Without belief of this sort nothing worth doing is ever done. 

We have a right to be proud of our vast material success, 
our national power and dignity, our advancing civilization 
carrying freedom and education in its train. Most of all 
may we be proud of the magnanimity displayed by the 
American people at the close of the Civil War — a noble 
generosity unparalleled in the history of nations. But to 
count our wealth and tell our numbers, and rehearse our 
great deeds simply to boast of them, is useless enough. We 
have a right to do it only when we listen to the solemn 
undertone which brings the message of great responsibilities 
— responsibilities far greater than the ordinary political and 
financial issues, which are sure to find sooner or later a right 
settlement. Social questions are the great questions of the 
present and the future for the American people. The race 
for wealth has opened a broad gap between rich and poor. 



198 HENRY CABOT LODGE 

There are thousands at your gates toiling from sunrise to 
sunset to keep body and soul together, and the struggle is a 
hard and bitter one. The idle, the worthless, the criminal, 
form but a small element of the community. There is a 
vast body of honest, God-fearing workingmen and women 
whose yoke is not easy and whose burden is far from right. 

The destiny of the Republic is in the welfare of its work- 
ingmen and women. We cannot push their troubles and 
cares into the background, and trust that all will come right 
in the end. Let us look to it that differences and inequali- 
ties of condition do not widen into ruin. It is most true 
that these differences cannot be eradicated; but they can be 
modified, and a great deal can be done to secure to every 
man the share of well-being and happiness to which his 
honesty, thrift, and ability entitle him. Legislation cannot 
change humanity or alter the decrees of nature, but it can 
help the solution of these grave problems. 

Practical measures are plentiful enough; the hours of 
labor; emigration from our overcrowded cities to the lands 
of the West; economical and energetic municipal govern- 
ments; proper building laws; the rigid prevention of adul- 
teration in the great staples of food ; wise regulation of the 
railroads and other great corporations; the extirpation of 
race and class in politics; above all, every effort to secure 
to labor its fair and full share of the profits earned by the 
combination of labor and capital. Llere are matters of great 
pith and moment, more important, more essential, more 
pressing, than any others. They must be met; they cannot 
be shirked or evaded. 

The past is across the water. The future is here in our 
keeping. We can do all that can be done to solve the social 
problems and fulfill the hopes of mankind. Failure would 
be a disaster unequal ed in history. The first step to success 
is pride of country, simple, honest, frank, and ever present, 
and this is the Americanism that I would have. If we have 
this pride and faith we shall appreciate our mighty responsi- 



THE PILOT'S STORY 199 

bilities. Then if we live up to them we shall keep the 
words " an American citizen" what they now are — the 
noblest title any man can bear. 



THE PILOT'S STORY 

By William Dean Ho wells, Editor, Author, Poet. Born at Martin 
Ferry, Ohio, 1837. 

Through the courtesy of Mr. Howells and by permission of the publishers of his 
poems, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston. 

It was a story the pilot told, with his back to his hearers, — 
Keeping his hand on the wheel and his eye on the globe of 

the jack-staff, 
Holding the boat to the shore and out of the sweep of the 

current, 
Lightly turning aside for the heavy logs of the driftwood, 
Widely shunning the snags that made us sardonic obeisance. 

All the soft, damp air was full of delicate perfume 

From the young willows in bloom on either bank of the 

river, — 
Faint, delicious fragrance, trancing the indolent senses 
In a luxurious dream of the river and land of the lotus. 

Not yet out of the west the roses of sunset were withered ; 
In the deep blue above light clouds of gold and of crimson 
Floated in slumber serene, and the restless river beneath 

them 
Rushed away to the sea with a vision of rest in its bosom. 
Far on the eastern shore lay dimly the swamps of the cypress; 
Dimly before us the islands grew from the river's expanses, — 
Beautiful, wood-grown isles, with the gleam of the swart 

inundation, 
Seen through the swaying boughs and slender trunks of their 

willows ; 



200 WILLIAM DEAN HOW ELLS 

And on the shore beside us the cotton-trees rose in the 

evening, 
Phantom-like, yearningly, wearily, with the inscrutable sad- 
ness 
Of the mute races of trees. While hoarsely the steam from 

her 'scape-pipes 
Shouted, then whispered a moment, then shouted again to 

the silence, 
Trembling through all her frame with the mighty pulse of 

her engines, 
Slowly the boat ascended the swollen and broad Mississippi 
Bank-full, sweeping on, with nearing masses of driftwood, 
Daintily breathed about with hazes of silvery vapor, 
Where in his arrowy flight the twittering swallow alighted, 
And the belated blackbird paused on the way to its nestlings. 

It was the pilot's story: — " They both came aboard there, 

at Cairo, 
From a New Orleans boat, and took passage with us for 

Saint Louis. 
She was a beautiful woman, with just blood enough from 

her mother, 
Darkening her eyes and her hair, to make her race known 

to a trader: 
You would have thought she was white. The man that was 

with her, — you see such, — 
Weakly good-natured and kind, and weakly good-natured 

and vicious, 
Slender of body and soul, fit neither for loving nor hating. 
I was a youngster then, and only learning the river, — 
Not over-fond of the wheel. I used to watch them at monte, 
Down in the cabin at night, and learned to know all of the 

gamblers. 
So when I saw this weak one staking his money against them, 
Betting upon the turn of the cards, I knew what was coming: 
They never left their pigeons a single feather to fly with. 



THE PILOT'S STORY 201 

Next day I saw them together, — the stranger and one of the 

gamblers : 
Picturesque rascal he was, with long black hair and 

moustaches, 
Black slouch hat drawn down to his eyes from his villainous 

forehead : 
On together they moved, still earnestly talking in whispers, 
On toward the forecastle, where sat the woman alone by the 

gangway. 
Roused by the fall of feet, she turned, and, beholding her 

master, 
Greeted him with a smile that was more like a wife's than 

another's, 
Rose to meet him fondly, and then, with the dread appre- 
hension 
Always haunting the slave, fell her eye on the face of the 

gambler, 
Dark and lustful and fierce and full of merciless cunning. 

Something was spoken so low that I could not hear what the 

words were; 
Only the woman started, and looked from one to the other, 
With imploring eyes, bewildered hands, and a tremor 
All through her frame : I saw her from where I was standing, 

she shook so. 
' Say! is it so ? ' she cried. On the weak, white lips of her 

master 
Died a sickly smile, and he said, — ' Louise, I have sold you. ' 
God is my judge! May I never see such a look of despair- 
ing, 
Desolate anguish, as that which the woman cast on her 

master, 
Griping her breast with her little hands, as if he had stabbed 

her, 
Standing in silence a space, as fixed as the Indian woman, 
Carved out of wood, on the pilot-house of the old Poca- 
hontas 1 



202 WILLIAM DEAN HO IV ELLS 

Then, with a gurgling moan, like the sound in the throat of 

the dying, 
Came back her voice, that, rising, fluttered, through wild 

incoherence, 
Into a terrible shriek that stopped my heart while she 

answered : — 
' Sold me ? sold me ? sold And you promised to give 

me my freedom ! — 
Promised me, for the sake of our little boy in Saint Louis ! 
What will you say to our boy, when he cries for me there in 

Saint Louis ? 
What will you say to our God ? — Ah, you have been joking! 

I see it ! 
No! God! God! He shall hear it, — and all of the angels in 

heaven, — 
Even the devils in hell ! — and none will believe when they 

hear it ! 
Sold me! ' — Fell her voice with a thrilling wail, and in 

silence 
Down she sank on the deck, and covered her face with her 

fingers. ' ' 

In his story a moment the pilot paused, while we listened 
To the salute of a boat, that, rounding the point of an island, 
Flamed toward us with fires that seemed to burn from the 

waters, — 
Stately and vast and swift, and borne on the heart of the 

current. 
Then, with the mighty voice of a giant challenged to battle, 
Rose the responsive whistle, and all the echoes of island, 
Swamp-land, glade, and brake replied with a myriad clamor, 
Like wild birds that are suddenly startled from slumber at 

midnight; 
Then were at peace once more, and we heard the harsh cries 

of the peacocks 
Perched on a tree by a cabin door, where the white-headed 

settler's 



THE PILOT'S STORY 203 

White-headed children stood to look at the boat as it passed 

them, 
Passed them so near that we heard their happy talk and their 

laughter. 
Softly the sunset had faded, and now on the eastern horizon 
Hung like a tear in the sky, the beautiful star of the evening. 

Still with his back to us standing, the pilot went on with his 

story : — 
" Instantly, all the people, with looks of reproach and com- 
passion, 
Flocked round the prostrate woman. The children cried, 

and their mothers 
Hugged them tight to their breasts; but the gambler said to 

the captain, — 
c Put me off there at the town that lies round the bend of 

the river. 
Here, you ! rise at once, and be ready now to go with me. ' 
Roughly he seized the woman's arm and strove to uplift her. 
She — she seemed not to heed him, but rose like one that is 

dreaming, 
Slid from his grasp, and fleetly mounted the steps of the 

gangway, 
Up to the hurricane-deck, in silence, without lamentation, 
Straight to the stern of the boat, where the wheel was, she 

ran, and the people 
Followed her fast till she turned and stood at bay for a 

moment, 
Looking them in the face, and in the face of the gambler. 
Not one to save her, — not one of all the compassionate 

people ! 
Not one to save her, of all the pitying angels in heaven ! 
Not one bolt of God to strike him dead there before her! 
Wildly she waved him back, we waiting in silence and 

horror. 
Over the swarthy face of the gambler a pallor of passion 



204 WILLIAM DEAN HO WELLS 

Passed, like a gleam of lightning over the west in the night- 
time. 

White, she stood, and mute, till he put forth his hand to 
secure her; 

Then she turned and leaped, — in mid-air fluttered a 
moment, — 

Down, there, whirling, fell, like a broken-winged bird from 
a tree-top, 

Down on the cruel wheel, that caught her, and hurled her, 
and crushed her, 

And in the foaming water plunged her, and hid her forever. " 

Still with his back to us all the pilot stood, but we heard 

him 
Swallowing hard, as he pulled the bell-rope to stop her. 

Then, turning, — 
" This is the place where it happened," brokenly whispered 

the pilot. 
" Somehow, I never like to go by here alone in the night- 
time." 
Darkly the Mississippi flowed by the town that lay in the 

starlight, 
Cheerful with lamps. Below we could hear them reversing 

the engines, 
And the great boat glided up to the shore like a giant 

exhausted. 
Heavily sighed her pipes. Broad over the swamps to the 

eastward 
Shone the full moon, and turned our far-trembling wake into 

silver. 
All was serene and calm, but the odorous breath of the 

willows 
Smote like the subtle breath of an infinite sorrow upon us. 



AN APPEAL TO THE PEOPLE 205 



AN APPEAL TO THE PEOPLE 

By John Bright, Statesman. Born at Greenbank, England, 181 1; 
died in London, 1889. 

Selections from two speeches on Reform : the first delivered at Birmingham, Eng- 
land, August 27, 1866 ; the second at London, England, December 4, 1866. See 
" Speeches by John Bright," published by Macmillan & Company, London and 
New York. By permission of the publishers. 

Our opponents have charged us with being the promoters 
of a dangerous excitement. They have the effrontery to say 
that I am the friend of public disorder. I am one of the 
people. Surely, if there be one thing in a free country more 
clear than another, it is, that any one of the people may 
speak openly to the people. If I speak to the people of 
their rights, and indicate to them the way to secure them, — 
if I speak of their danger to the monopolists of power, — am 
I not a wise counsellor, both to the people and to their 
rulers ? 

Suppose I stood at the foot of Vesuvius, or ^Etna, and, 
seeing a hamlet or a homestead planted on its slope, I said 
to the dwellers in that hamlet, or in that homestead, ' ' You 
see that vapor which ascends from the summit of the moun- 
tain. That vapor may become a dense, black smoke, that 
will obscure the sky. You see the trickling of lava from the 
crevices in the side of the mountain. That trickling of lava 
may become a river of fire. You hear that muttering in the 
bowels of the mountain. That muttering may become a 
bellowing thunder, the voice of a violent convulsion, that 
may shake half a continent. You know that at your feet is 
the grave of great cities, for which there is no resurrection, 
as histories tell us that dynasties and aristocracies have 
passed away, and their names have been known no more 
forever. ' ' 

If I say this to the dwellers upon the slope of the moun- 
tain, and if there comes hereafter a catastrophe which makes 
the world to shudder, am I responsible for that catastrophe ? 



206 HORACE PORTER 

I did not build the mountain, or fill it with explosive 
materials. I merely warned the men that were in danger. 
So, now, it is not I who am stimulating men to the violent 
pursuit of their acknowledged constitutional rights. 

The class which has hitherto ruled in this country has 
failed miserably. It revels in power and wealth, whilst at 
its feet, a terrible peril for its future, lies the multitude which 
it has neglected. If a class has failed, let us try the nation. 

That is our faith, that is our purpose, that is our cry. 
Let us try the nation. This it is which has called together 
these countless numbers of the people to demand a change; 
and from these gatherings, sublime in their vastness and their 
resolution, I think I see, as it were, above the hill-tops of 
time, the glimmerings of the dawn of a better and a nobler 
day for the country and for the people that I love so well. 

A TRIBUTE TO GENERAL SHERMAN 

By Horace Porter, Brigadier- General, Lecturer, Author; United 
States Ambassador to France, 1897 — . Born in Huntington, Penn., 

1837. 

From a speech at a banquet of the New England Society in the City of New York, 
Dec. 22, 1891. See New York Tribune, Dec. 23, 1891. 

In speaking of the sons of New England sires, I know 
that one name is uppermost in all minds here to-night — the 
name of one who added new luster to the fame of his distin- 
guished ancestors. The members of your society, like the 
nation at large, found themselves within the shadow of a 
profound grief, and oppressed by a sense of sadness akin to 
the sorrow of a personal bereavement, as they stood with 
uncovered heads beside the bier of William T. Sherman; 
when the echo of his guns gave place to the tolling of 
cathedral-bells; when the flag of his country, which had 
never been lowered in his presence, dropped to half-mast, as 
if conscious that his strong arm was no longer there to hold 
it to the peak; when he passed from the living here to join 
the other living, commonly called the dead. We shall never 



A TRIBUTE TO GENERAL SHERMAN 207 

meet the great soldier again until he stands forth to answer 
to his name at roll-call on the morning of the last great 
reveille. At the reunions of this Society he was always a 
thrice-welcome guest. The same blood coursed in his veins 
as that which flows in yours. All hearts warmed to him 
with the glow of an abiding affection. He was a many- 
sided man. He possessed all the characteristics of the 
successful soldier; bold in conception, vigorous in execu- 
tion, and unshrinking under grave responsibilities. He 
was singularly self-reliant, demonstrating by all his acts 
that ' ' much danger makes great hearts most resolute. ' ' 
He combined in his temperament the restlessness of a 
Hotspur with the patience of a Fabius. Under the mag- 
netism of his presence his troops rushed to victory with all 
the dash of Caesar's Tenth Legion. Opposing ranks went 
down before the fierceness of his onsets, never to rise again. 
He paused not till he saw the folds of his banners wave 
above the strongholds he had wrested from the foe. 

While mankind will always appreciate the practical work- 
ings of the mind of the great strategist, they will also see in 
his marvelous career much which savors of romance as well 
as reality, appeals to the imagination and excites the fancy. 
They will picture him as a legendary knight moving at the 
head of conquering columns, whose marches were measured 
not by single miles, but by thousands; as a general who 
could make a Christmas gift to his President of a great sea- 
board city; as a chieftain whose field of military operations 
covered nearly half a continent; who had penetrated ever- 
glades and bayous; the inspiration of whose commands 
forged weaklings into giants; whose orders all spoke with 
the true bluntness of the soldier; who fought from valley's 
depth to mountain height, and marched from inland rivers 
to the sea. No one can rob him of his laurels; no man can 
lessen the measure of his fame. His friends will never cease 
to sing paeans in his honor, and even the wrath of his 
enemies may be counted in his praise. 



2o8 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 



MOTHER AND POET 

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Poet. Born in Durham, England, 
1809; died in Florence, Italy, 1861. 

(Turin— After news from Gaeta, 1861.) 

Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east, 
And one of them shot in the west by the sea, 

Dead! both my boys! When you sit at the feast, 
And are wanting a great song for Italy free, 
Let none look at me! 



Yet I was a poetess only last year, 

And good at my art, for a woman, men said ; 

But this woman, this, who is agonized here, 

The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head 
Forever, instead. 

What art can a woman be good at ? Oh, vain ! 

What art is she good at, but hurting her breast 
With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at the pain ? 

Ah, boys, how you hurt ! you were strong as you pressed, 
And I proud, by that test. 

What art's for a woman ? To hold on her knees 

Both darlings; to feel all their arms round her throat 

Cling, strangle a little; to sew by degrees 

And broider the long clothes and neat little coat; 
To dream and to doat ! 

To teach them ... It stings there! I made them, indeed, 
Speak plain the word country. I taught them, no doubt, 

That a country's a thing men should die for at need. 
I prated of liberty, rights, and about 
The tyrant cast out. 



MOTHER AND POET 209 

And when their eyes flashed . . . O my beautiful eyes, 

I exulted; nay, let them go forth at the wheels 
Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise 

When one sits quite alone! Then one weeps, then one 
kneels ! 

— God, how the house feels ! 

At first happy news came, — in gay letters, moiled 
With my kisses, — of camp-life and glory, and how 

They both loved me; and, soon coming home to be spoiled, 
In return would fan off every fly from my brow 
With their green laurel-bough. 

Then was triumph at Turin. Ancona was free ! 

And some one came out of the cheers in the street, 
With a face pale as stone, to say something to me: 

My Guido was dead ! I fell down at his feet, 
While they cheered in the street. 

I bore it; friends soothed me; my grief looked sublime 

As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained 
To be leaned on and walked with, recalling the time 
When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained 
To the height he had gained. 

And letters still came, shorter, sadder, more strong, 
Writ now but in one hand: I was not to faint, — 

One loved me for two, — would be with me ere long: 
And, " Viva V Italia! he died for, — our saint, — 
Who forbids our complaint." 

My Nannie would add ; he was safe, and aware 

Of a presence that turned off the balls, — was impressed 

It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear, 
And how 'twas impossible, quite dispossessed, 
To live on for the rest. 



2 to ELIZABETH BARRETT BROIVNING 

On which, without pause, up the telegraph-line 

Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta: — " Shot. 
Tell his mother." Ah, ah, "his," "their" mother, not 
" mine; " 
No voice says, " My mother " again to me. What! 
You think Guido forgot ? 

Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with Heaven, 
They drop earth's affections, conceive not of woe ? 

I think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven 
Through that Love and Sorrow which reconciled so 
The Above and Below. 

Oh Christ of the seven wounds , who look'dst through the dark 
To the face of Thy Mother! consider, I pray, 

How we common mothers stand desolate, mark 

Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away, 
And no last word to say. 

Both boys dead ? but that's out of nature. We all 

Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one. 

'Twere imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall; 
And, when Italy's made, for what end is it done 
If we have not a son ? 

Ah, ah, ah! when Gaeta' s taken, what then ? 

\yhen the fair wieked queen sits no more at her sport 
Of the fire-balls of death, crashing souls out of men ? 

When the guns of Cavalli, with final retort, 
Have cut the game short ? 

When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee, 

When your flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and 
red, 
When jyou have a country from mountain to sea, 
And King Victor has Italy's crown on his head, 
(And I have my dead) — 



FOREFATHERS' DAY 2 it 

What then ? Do not mock me. Ah, ring your bells low, 
And burn your lights faintly! My country is there, 

Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow; 
My Italy's there, with my brave civic pair, 
To disfranchise despair! 

Forgive me. Some women bear children in strength, 
And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn; 

But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length 
Into wail such as this; and we sit on, forlorn, 
When the man-child is born. 

Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the west, 
And one of them shot in the east by the sea. 

Both, both my boys ! If, in keeping the feast, 
You want a great song for your Italy free, 
Let none look at me! 



FOREFATHERS' DAY 

By John Davis Long, Lawyer, Author; Governor of Massachusetts, 
1882-88; Secretary of the Navy, 1897 — . Born in Buckfield, Maine, 
1838. 

From a speech at a banquet "of the New England Society in the City of New York, 
Dec. 22, 1884. 

Reprinted, by permission of the author, from "After Dinner and Other Speeches," 
published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston. Copyright 1895, by John D. Long. 

Never since Moses led the children of Israel toward the 
promised land has there been such an epic as the voyage of 
the Mayflower and the landing at Plymouth. . . . Ah, how 
narrowly and mistakenly we limit those men and women of 
the Mayflower when we shrivel them with the winter blast of 
a December day, harden them into the solemnity of ascetics, 
or think of them as refugees from personal annoyances. 

While they were, as some one has said, ' ' neither Puritans 
nor persecutors," they were, as is too rarely said, something 
far more — they were poets, they were idealists. They were 



212 JOHN DAVIS LONG 

glad children of the light, seeking for " more light." They 
were warm with youth and adventure, yet transcendentalists 
mounting a new heaven. Read the compact drawn in the 
cabin of the Mayflower, — read in it the statement of the 
object of their coming, and say where has the genius of bard 
or prophet struck such a strain as those words expressive of 
their purpose: " For the glory of God and advancement of 
the Christian faith and honour of our King and countrie ! " 
Here is no wretched care for personal interests, no craven 
thought of flight or escape from petty persecutions, no 
whining solicitude for individual fortune, but the high soul 
of men who "plant a colony" and found an empire for 
nothing less than the glory of God, the advancement of their 
faith, the honor of their country. . . . Do you think any 
ingobler spirit than the poet's wrought this vision, or would 
have kept them there when the first winter struck down half 
their number, and, standing on the hill, they watched the 
sails of the returning Mayflower fade out in the light of an 
April day ? . . . You think they shrank from the savage and 
heard his whoop in their dreams. That is because you are 
timid, and live in cities. To them the Indian's first word 
was " Welcome, Englishmen." With now and then a rare 
and wholesome correction, he lived in peace with them for 
generations; and tradition has it that two children of the 
forest begged to be buried at the feet of Bradford, and now 
lie with him on Burial Hill. Fear! Standish, panting for 
the elbow-room of perfect freedom, and separating himself 
from the rest, even as they had all separated themselves from 
their English homes, dwelt apart across the channel in the 
grandeur of his solitary Duxbury realm. 

You think there was no softness or merriment in their 
lives; but you forget that John Alden looked in the eyes of 
Priscilla Mullens and walked with her in the " lovers' lanes " 
of the "forest primeval." You forget to catch the laugh 
with which Mary Chilton, ancestress of Copley and Lynd- 
hurst, waded from the boat to the shore — first woman of 



FOREFATHERS' DAY 213 

them all to put her dainty foot on American soil. You 
forget the romance of Alice Southworth's coming later over 
from England to wed the young widower Bradford, who had 
loved her when a girl among the English hawthorns. . . . 

These Pilgrims were men who were greater than the 
restrictions of English life; who were broader than the 
huckstering and traffic of their Holland tarrying-place; and 
who, therefore, fled from both, gasping for larger breath. 
They were no narrow Puritans, who vexed themselves over 
questions of method or form or discipline in the Church. 
They broke altogether from the Church itself, were separa- 
tists, and set up their own establishment for themselves and 
for the New World, — themselves an evangel of religious and 
civil liberty. . . . Sympathy for the hardships of the Pilgrim 
fathers ! They would laugh at you. They never dreamed 
of yielding, or of going or looking back. Why, it were 
worth a thousand years, a cycle of Cathay, to have breathed 
the air with them, to have put one's name to that cabin 
compact, to have planted that colony. . . . 

Our lives are comparatively humdrum prose or cheap 
doggerel. Theirs was a paean. They were idealists, poets, 
seers; but it was that germinating and rich idealism which 
flowers out in the world's glory and beneficence. If it was 
poetry, it is a poetry that lives after them, in a larger vitality 
and range. Its music is not a far-off strain. It is not con- 
fined to a stone's throw from the rock on which they set 
foot. It rolls across a continent from sea to sea. ... It 
is poetry, indeed, but the poetry of industry, of growth, of 
school and farm and shop and ship and car. You hear it 
now in the hum of ten thousand mills, in the trip of a 
hundred thousand hammers, in the bustle of myriad ex- 
changes, in the voice of a mighty people who are a mighty 
people, and will be mightier yet, because, and so far as they 
are true to the courage of the Pilgrim Fathers, to their lofty 
stride and aspiration, to their superiority over fortune and 
the dust, to their foundations of education and the home, 



5i4 james Mcdowell 

and to their consecration of themselves to the glory of God, 
the advancement of faith, and the honor of their country. 

Forefathers' Day! We have no day that is not Fore- 
fathers' Day. Our national independence is their separa- 
tism. Standish is the common prototype of Grant and 
Sherman. Whatever is wholesome in our social life is the 
effluence of their homes. Our constitutional liberty and our 
constitutional law are the consummate flower of their 
compact. I doubt if there be to-day a radical footprint that 
may not trace itself to them; and many an economic and 
industrial result is an issue from their good sense and honest 
labor. . . . This great democracy of ours, the broadest- 
based and securest government in the world, self-sufficient, 
self-sustaining, self-restrained, and developing new capacity 
to meet every new necessity and demand of its own 
stupendous and startling growth, is only the expansion of 
their own democracy. Let us do our duty by it as faithfully 
as they did theirs. Doing that, let us await its destiny as 
calmly as did they, assured, as they were, that liberty is 
better than repression; that liberty, making and obeying its 
own laws, is God; and that unless man, made in His image, 
is a failure, the self-government of a free and educated 
people, whatever its occasional vicissitudes, will not and 
cannot fail. 

DANGEROUS LEGISLATION 

By James McDowell, Statesman; Governor of Virginia, 1842-44; 
Member of Congress from Virginia, 1846-51. 

From a speech made in the House of Representatives, February 23, 1849, on tne 
formation of one or more new States out of the Territories of New Mexico and Cali- 
fornia. See Appendix to Congressional Globe, Feb. 23, 1849. 

Mr. Chairman: When I pass by the collective parties in 
this case, and recall the particular ones; when I see that my 
own State is as deeply implicated in the trouble and the 
danger of it as any other, and shares to the full, with all of 



DANGEROUS LEGISLATION 215 

her Southern colleagues, in the most painful apprehensions 
of its issue; when I see this, I turn involuntarily, and with 
unaffected deference of spirit, and ask, What, in this exigent 
moment to Virginia, will Massachusetts do ? Will you, too 
(I speak to her as present in her representatives), — will you, 
too, forgetting all the past, put forth a hand to smite her 
ignominiously upon the cheek ? In your own early day of 
deepest extremity and distress — the day of the Boston Port 
Bill — when your beautiful capital was threatened with ex- 
tinction, and England was collecting her gigantic power to 
sweep your liberties away, Virginia, caring for no odds and 
counting no cost, bravely, generously, instantly, stepped 
forth for your deliverance. Addressing her through the 
justice of your cause and the agonies of your condition, you 
asked for her heart. She gave it; with scarce the reservation 
of a throb, she gave it freely and gave it all. You called 
upon her for her blood; she took her children from her 
bosom and offered them. 

But in all this she felt and knew that she was, more than 
your political ally — more than your political friend. She 
felt and knew that she was your near, natural-born relation 
— such in virtue of your common descent, but such far more 
still in virtue of the higher attributes of a congenial and 
kindred nature. Do not be startled at the idea of common 
qualities between the American Cavalier and the American 
Roundhead. An heroic and unconquerable will, differently 
directed, is the pervasive and master cement in the character 
of both. Nourished by the same spirit, sharing as twin 
sisters in the struggle of the heritage of the same revolution, 
what is there in any demand of national faith, or of consti- 
tutional duty, or of public morals, which should separate 
them now ? 

Give us but a part of that devotion which glowed in the 
heart of the younger Pitt, and of our own elder Adams, who, 
in the midst of their agonies forgot not the countries they 
had lived for, but mingled with the spasms of their dying 



216 james Mcdowell 

hour a last and imploring appeal to the Parent of all mercies, 
that He would remember in eternal blessings the land of 
their birth ; give us their devotion — give us that of the young 
enthusiast of Paris, who, listening to Mirabeau in one of his 
surpassing vindications of human rights, and seeing him fall 
from his stand, dying, as a physician proclaimed, for the 
want of blood, rushed to the spot, and as he bent over the 
expiring man, bared his arm for the lancet, and cried again 
and again with impassioned voice: " Here, take it — oh! 
take it from me! let me die, so that Mirabeau and the 
liberties of my country may not perish! " Give us some- 
thing only of such a love of country, and we are safe, forever 
safe; the troubles which shadow over and oppress us now will 
pass away like a summer cloud. The fatal element of all 
our discord will be removed from among us. . . . 

It is said, sir, that at some dark hour of our revolutionary 
contest, when army after army had been lost; when, dis- 
pirited, beaten, wretched, the heart of the boldest and 
faithfulest died within them, and all for an instant seemed 
conquered, except the unconquerable soul of our father-chief, 
— it is said that at that moment, rising above all the auguries 
around him, and buoyed up by the inspiration of his im- 
mortal work for all the trials it could bring, he aroused anew 
the sunken spirit of his associates by this confident and 
daring declaration: " Strip me," said he, " of the dejected 
and suffering remnant of my army — take from me all that I 
have left — leave me but a banner, give me but the means to 
plant it upon the mountains of West Augusta, and I will yet 
draw around me the men who shall lift up their bleeding 
country from the dust, and set her free ! ' ' Give to me, who 
am a son and representative here of the same West Augusta, 
give to me as a banner the propitious measure I have 
endeavored to support, help me to plant it upon this moun- 
tain-top of our national power, and the land of Washington, 
undivided and unbroken, will be our land, and the land of 
our children's children forever! So help me to do this at 



THE PURITAN SABBATH 217 

this hour, and, generations hence some future son of the 
South, standing where I stand, in the midst of our legitimate 
successors, will bless, and praise, and thank God that he, 
too, can say of them, as I of you, and of all around me — 
these, these are my brethren, and oh ! this, this, too, is my 
country ! 



THE PURITAN SABBATH 

By Henry VAN Dyke, Clergyman, Professor, Author, Poet; Pastor 
Brick Presbyterian Church, New York, 1882-99; Professor of English, 
Princeton University, 1899 — . 

From an address made at the annual banquet of the New England Society in New 
York City, Dec. 23, 1895 ; the anniversary having been postponed because Forefathers' 
Day that year fell on a Sunday. See New York Tribune, Dec. 24, 1895. 

The Puritan fenced in his Sabbath with a wall of iron. 
We do not altogether admire the architecture of that wall ; 
but let us never forget that within it were sheltered, through 
stormy centuries, three inestimable treasures — the sanctity 
of human rest, as well as of human labor; the peace and 
order of the Puritan household, and the dignity and sim- 
plicity of common worship. Let us never forget that out of 
that sacred enclosure issued the men and women, trained 
and solidified by self-restraint and sober discipline, who were 
to be the very backbone of the permanent morality of this 
nation. . . . 

There is no question of the day, it seems to me, that 
comes closer to the life of the people and affects our future 
welfare more deeply than the Sunday question, with all that 
it involves of personal liberty, civic order, the rights of labor, 
and the freedom of conscience. In order to settle it, we 
must free our minds from cant; the cant of politics and the 
cant of religion. We must recognize the difference between 
the American Sunday and the Puritan Sabbath. The one is 
a day of restraint, the other is a day of liberty. The one is 
a religious observance, the other is a humane institution. 



218 HENRY VAN DYKE 

We ought not to confuse them, nor attempt to reconcile 
them by compromise. Compromise in matters of principle 
is always a failure. . . . 

For those who believe in the substance of the Puritan 
Sabbath as a day of religious devotion, needful for the 
Christian life, to give up their private convictions and change 
their personal practice to conform to a passing fashion, is to 
make a false compromise. For those who believe in the 
American Sunday as a day of secular rest, needful for the 
national life, to narrow its liberty and imperil its security by 
overloading it with restrictions and attempting to change it 
into a day of forced religion, is to make a false compromise. 
Clear and distinct, the two days stand side by side; or, to 
speak more truly, circle within circle, sphere within sphere. 
The day of universal repose spreads like a fair, well-ordered 
garden, in whose pleasant ways the burdens of toil and the 
strifes of competition shall be laid aside, and all men shall 
be free to rest and refresh themselves in common joy and 
brotherly regard. Within that garden, protected by its 
beautiful peace, stands the day of divine worship, like a 
shining temple, into which none shall be compelled, but all 
shall be invited, to enter. There they will learn that the 
deepest rest comes through adoration, the strongest refresh- 
ment is drawn from faith, and the sweetest music is that 
which praises God. 

Gentlemen, let us maintain the liberty of the garden, and 
let us use our own liberty to preserve the sanctity of the 
temple. Many of the outward forms of the Puritan Sabbath 
have passed away; but God grant that its spirit and sub- 
stance may never vanish from our hearts and homes. What 
memories haunt our souls so strong, so precious, as those 
that come down to us from its morning hour of prayer 
around the household altar, its noontide hour of worship in 
the quiet house of God, its evening hour of music in the 
home, where voices long since fallen in silence joined in the 
sweet songs of Zion ? All our lives long we shall remember 



THE PURITAN SABBATH 219 

these things, and the remembrance will make us better, 
braver, more loyal and more steadfast men. 

And shall our children have no such memories ? Shall 
they look back from the coming conflict and turmoil of the 
twentieth century into homes where there was a Sunday but 
no Sabbath ? Nay, will you not rather restore to your 
domestic and social life the potency and promise of your 
true Forefathers' Day ? And will you not add to it the 
milder but no less sacred influence of that other day, so near 
at hand, which my forefathers reverenced and cherished, the 
day of St. Nicholas, the merry Christmas Day ? There is no 
discord between them, but harmony and concord. Before 
the ancient temple at Jerusalem there stood two pillars, 
Jachin and Boaz, wreathed with lily-work and carven with 
pomegranites. So let these two memorial days stand at the 
doorway of our houses, like shining, steadfast columns, 
which never shall be removed, the Sabbath Day and Christ- 
mas Day, emblem of loyal faith and self-restraint, emblem 
of joyous hope and glad good-will to all, upholding with 
undesecrated purity and undiminished strength 

" The homely beauty of the good old cause, 
Our peace, our fearful innocence. 
And pure religion breathing household laws." 

From the shelter of such holy homes a new manhood 
shall come forth; serene, thoughtful, peaceful; prepared and 
able to defend the nation's honor, which is righteousness, 
and to preserve the nation's glory, which is peace. 



2 20 ANNA ELIZABETH DICKINSON 



THE ASSAULT ON FORT WAGNER 

By Anna Elizabeth Dickinson, Lecturer, Novelist, Playwright. 
Born in Philadelphia, 1842. 

Through the whole afternoon there had been a tremendous 
cannonading of the fort from the gunboats and the land 
forces; the smooth, regular engineer lines were broken, and 
the fresh-sodded embankments torn and roughened by the 
unceasing rain of shot and shell. About six o'clock there 
came moving up the island, over the burning sands and 
under the burning sky, a stalwart, splendid-appearing set of 
men, who looked equal to any daring, and capable of any 
heroism, — men whom nothing could daunt and few things 
subdue. As this regiment, the famous Fifty-fourth, came up 
the island to take its place at the head of the storming party 
in the assault on Wagner, it was cheered on all sides by the 
white soldiers, who recognized and honored the heroism 
which it had already shown, and of which it was to give such 
new and sublime proof. 

The evening, or rather the afternoon, was a lurid, sultry 
one. Great masses of clouds, heavy and black, were piled 
in the western sky, fringed here and there by an angry red, 
and torn by vivid streams of lightning. Not a breath of 
wind shook the leaves or stirred the high, rank grass by the 
water-side; a portentous and awful stillness filled the air — 
the stillness felt by nature before a devastating storm. 
Quiet, with the like awful and portentous calm, the black 
regiment, headed by its young, fair-haired, knightly colonel, 
marched to its destined place and action. 

Here the men were addressed in a few brief and burning 
words by their heroic commander. Here they were besought 
to glorify their whole race by the luster of their deeds; here 
their faces shone with a look which said: "Though men, 
we are ready to do deeds, to achieve triumphs, worthy of 
the gods! " Here the word of command was given: " We 



THE ASSAULT ON FORT WAGNER 221 

are ordered and expected to take Battery Wagner at the point 
of the bayonet. Are you ready ? ' ' 

"Ay, Ay, sir! ready! " was the answer. And the order 
went pealing down the line : ' ' Ready ! Close ranks ! Charge 
bayonets! Forward! Double-quick, march!" — and away 
they went under a scattering fire in one compact line till 
within one hundred feet of the fort, when the storm of death 
broke upon them. 

Every gun belched forth its great shot and shell; every 
rifle whizzed out its sharp-singing, death-freighted messen- 
ger. The men wavered not for an instant ; forward — forward 
they went; plunged into the ditch; waded through the deep 
water, no longer of a muddy hue, but stained crimson with 
their blood, and commenced to climb the parapet. The 
foremost line fell and then the next and the next. On, over 
the piled-up mounds of dead and dying, of wounded and 
slain, to the mouth of the battery; seizing the guns; 
bayoneting the gunners at their posts; planting their flag 
and struggling around it; their leader on the walls, sword in 
hand, his blue eyes blazing, his fair face aflame, his clear 
voice calling out: "Forward, my brave boys!" — then 
plunging into the hell of battle before him. 

As the men were clambering up the parapet, their color- 
sergeant was shot dead, the colors trailing, stained and wet, 
in the dust beside him. A nameless hero sprang from the 
ranks, seized the staff from his dying hand, and with it 
mounted upward. A ball struck his right arm; but ere it 
could fall shattered by his side, his left hand caught the flag 
and carried it onward, Even in the mad sweep of assault 
and death, the men around him found breath and time to 
hurrah, and those behind him pressed more gallantly forward 
to follow such a lead. He kept in his place the colors flying 
(though faint with loss of blood and wrung with agony) up 
the slippery steep, up to the walls of the fort; on the wall 
itself, planting the flag where the men made their brief, 
splendid stand, and melted away like snow before furnace- 



222 ANNA ELIZABETH DICKINSON 

heat. Here a bayonet thrust met him and brought him 
down, a great wound in his brave breast, but he did not 
yield; dropping to his knees, pressing his unbroken arm 
upon the gaping wound — bracing himself against a dead 
comrade — the colors still flew; an inspiration to the men 
about him, a defiance to the foe. 

At last, when the shattered ranks fell back, sullenly and 
slowly retreating, it was seen by those who watched him that 
he was painfully working his way downward, still holding 
aloft the flag, bent evidently on saving it, and saving it as 
flag had rarely if ever been saved before. Now and then he 
paused at some impediment; it was where the dead and 
dying were piled so thickly as to compel him to make a 
detour. Now and then he rested a moment, to press his 
arm tighter against his torn and open breast. Slowly, pain- 
fully, he dragged himself onward — step by step down the 
hill, inch by inch across the ground — to the door of the 
hospital ; and then, while dying eyes brightened, while dying 
men held back their souls from the eternities to cheer him, 
gasped out: " I did — but do — my duty, boys — and the dear 
— old flag— never once — touched the ground"; and then 
away from the reach and sight of its foes, in the midst of its 
defenders, who loved and were dying for it, the flag at last 
fell. 

The next day a flag of truce went up to beg the body of 
the heroic young chief who had so bravely led that marvelous 
assault. It came back without him. A ditch, deep and 
wide, had been dug; his body and those of twenty-two of his 
men, found dead upon and about him, flung into it in one 
common heap; and the word sent back was: "We have 
buried him with his niggers." 

It was well done. Slavery buried these men, black and 
white together — black and white in a common grave. Let 
liberty see to it, then, that black and white be raised 
together in a life better than the old. 



A TRIBUTE TO THE MEN OF THE MAINE 223 



A TRIBUTE TO THE MEN OF THE MAINE 

By Robert G. Cousins, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Iowa, 
1892 — . Born in Cedar County, Iowa, 1859. 

Delivered in the House of Representatives March 21, 1898 ; the House having under 
consideration the bill for the relief of the sufferers by the destruction of the U.S.S. 
Maine in the harbor of Habana, Cuba, March 15, 1898. 

Mr. Speaker: Whether this measure shall prevail, either 
in the form in which it has come from the committee or in 
the form as proposed in the amendment, it is both appro- 
priate and just; but hardly is it mentionable in contempla- 
tion of the great calamity to which it appertains. It will be 
an incidental legislative foot-note to a page of history that 
shall be open to the eyes of this Republic and of the world 
for all time to come. No human speech can add anything 
to the silent gratitude, the speechless reverence, already 
given by a great and grateful nation to its dead defenders 
and to their living kin. No act of Congress providing for 
their needs can make a restitution for their sacrifice. Human 
nature does, in human ways, its best, and still feels deep in 
debt. 

Expressions of condolence have come from every country 
and from every clime, and every nerve of steel and ocean 
cable has carried on electric breath the sweetest, tenderest 
words of sympathy for that gallant crew who manned the 
Maine. But no human recompense "can reach them. 
Humanity and time remain their everlasting debtors. 

It was a brave and strong and splendid crew. They were 
a part of the blood and bone and sinew of our land. Two 
of them were from my native State of Iowa. Some were 
only recently at the United States Naval Academy, where 
they had so often heard the morning and the evening saluta- 
tion to the flag — that flag which had been interwoven with 
the dearest memories of their lives, that had colored all their 
friendships with the lasting blue of true fidelity. But 
whether they came from naval school or civil life, from one 



224 ROBERT G. COUSINS 

State or another, they called each other comrade — that gem 
of human language which sometimes means but a little less 
than love and a little more than friendship, that gentle 
salutation of the human heart which lives in all the languages 
of man, that winds and turns and runs through all the joys 
and sorrows of the human race, through deed and thought 
and dream, through song and toil and battle-field. 

No foe had ever challenged them. The world can never 
know how brave they were. They never knew defeat ; they 
never shall. While at their posts of duty sleep lured them 
into the abyss; then death unlocked their slumbering eyes 
but for an instant to behold its dreadful carnival, most of 
them just when life was full of hope and all its tides were at 
their highest, grandest flow; just when the early sunbeams 
were falling on the steeps of fame and flooding all life's land- 
scape far out into the dreamy, distant horizon; just at that 
age when all the nymphs were making diadems and garlands, 
waving laurel wreaths before the eyes of young and eager 
nature — just then, when death seemed most unnatural. 

Hovering above the dark waters of that mysterious harbor 
of Habana, the black-winged vulture watches for the dead, 
while over it and over all there is the eagle's piercing eye 
sternly watching for the truth. 

Whether the appropriation carried by ( this resolution shall 
be ultimately charged to fate or to some foe shall soon 
appear. Meanwhile a patient and a patriotic people, 
enlightened by the lessons of our history, remembering the 
woes of war, both to the vanquished and victorious, are 
ready for the truth and ready for their duty. 

1 ' The tumult and the shouting dies — 
The captains and the kings depart — 

Still stands thine ancient sacrifice, 
An humble and a contrite heart. 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 

Lest we forget — lest we forget." 



THE SOLDIER'S FAITH 225 



THE SOLDIER'S FAITH 

By Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jurist Professor, Author; Chief Justice 
of the Supreme Court of Massachusetts, 1899 — . Born in Boston, 
Mass., 1 841. 

Taken from an address delivered on Memorial Day, May 30, 1895, at a meeting 
called by the graduating class of Harvard University. See " Speeches by Oliver 
Wendell Holmes," published by Little, Brown & Co., Boston, Mass., 1896; also 
Harvard Graduate' 's Magazine, December, 1895. By permission of the author. 

The ideals of the past for men have been drawn from war, 
as those for women have been drawn from motherhood. For 
all our prophecies, I doubt if we are ready to give up our 
inheritance. Who is there who would not like to be thought 
a gentleman ? Yet what has that name been built on but 
the soldier's choice of honor rather than life ? To be a 
soldier or descended from soldiers, in time of peace to be 
ready to give one's life rather than to suffer disgrace, — that 
is what the word has meant ; and if we try to claim it at less 
cost than a splendid carelessness for life, we are trying to 
steal the good-will without the responsibilities of the place. 
We will not dispute about tastes. The man of the future 
may want something different. But who of us could endure 
a world, although cut up into five-acre lots and having no 
man upon it who was not well fed and well housed, without 
the divine folly of honor, without the senseless passion for 
knowledge outreaching the flaming bounds of the possible, 
without ideals the essence of which is that they never can be 
achieved ? I do not know what is true. I do not know the 
meaning of the universe. But in the midst of doubt, in the 
collapse of creeds, there is one thing I do not doubt, that 
no man who lives in the same world with most of us can 
doubt, and that is, that the faith is true and adorable which 
leads a soldier to throw away his life in obedience to a 
blindly accepted duty, in a cause which he little understands, 
in a plan of campaign of which he has no notion, under 
tactics of which he does not see the use. 

Most men who know battle know the cynic force with 



226 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 

which the thoughts of common sense will assail them in 
times of stress; but they know that in their greatest moments 
faith has trampled those thoughts under foot. If you have 
been in line, suppose on Tremont street mall, ordered 
simply to wait and to do nothing, and have watched the 
enemy bring their guns to bear upon you down a gentle 
slope like that from Beacon street, have seen the puff of the 
firing, have felt the burst of the spherical case-shot as it came 
toward you, have heard and seen the shrieking fragments go 
tearing through your company, and have known that the 
next or the next shot carries your fate; if you have advanced 
in line and have seen ahead of you the spot which you must 
pass where the rifle bullets are striking; if you have ridden 
by night at a walk toward the blue line of fire at the dead- 
angle of Spottsylvania, where for twenty-four hours the 
soldiers were fighting on the two sides of an earthwork, and 
in the morning the dead and dying lay piled in a row six 
deep, and as you rode have heard the bullets splashing in 
the mud and earth about you; if you have been on the 
picket-line at night in a black and unknown wood, have 
heard the spat of the bullets upon the trees, and as you 
moved have felt your foot slip upon a dead man's body; if 
you have had a blind, fierce gallop against the enemy, with 
your blood up and a pace that left no time for fear, — if, in 
short, as some, I hope many, who hear me have known, 
you have known the vicissitudes of terror and of triumph in 
war, you know that there is such a thing as the faith I spoke 
of. You know your own weakness and are modest; but yon 
know that man has in him that unspeakable somewhat which 
makes him capable of miracle, able to lift himself by the 
might of his own soul unaided, able to face annihilation for 
a blind belief. . . . 

War, when you are at it, is horrible and dull. It is only 
when time has passed that you see that its message was 
divine. I hope it may be long before we are called again to 
sit at that master's feet. But some teacher of the kind we 



THE SOLDIER'S FAITH 227 

all need. . . . We need it everywhere and at all times. For 
high and dangerous action teaches us to believe as right 
beyond dispute things for which our doubting minds are 
slow to find words of proof. Out of heroism grows faith in 
the worth of heroism. . . . 

We do not save our traditions, in this country. The 
regiments whose battle-flags were not large enough to hold 
the names of the battles they had fought vanished with the 
surrender of Lee, although their memories inherited would 
have made heroes for a century. It is the more necessary 
to learn the lesson afresh from perils newly sought, and per- 
haps it is not vain for us to tell the new generation what we 
learned in our day, and what we still believe. That the joy 
of life is living, is to put out all one's powers as far as they 
will go; that the measure of power is obstacles overcome; 
to ride boldly at what is in front of you, be it fence or 
enemy; to pray, not for comfort, but for combat; to keep 
the soldier's faith against the doubts of civil life, more 
besetting and harder to overcome than all the misgivings of 
the battle-field, and to remember that duty is not to be 
proved in the evil day, but then to be obeyed unquestioning; 
to love glory more than the temptations of wallowing ease, 
but to know that one's final judge and only rival is one's 
self; with all our failures in act and thought, these things 
we learned from noble enemies in Virginia or Georgia or on 
the Mississippi thirty years ago; these things we believe to 

be true. 

" 'Life is not lost,' said she, 'for which is bought 
Endlesse renowm.' " 

We learned also, and we still believe, that love of country 
is not yet an idle name. 

" Deare countrey ! O how dearely deare 

Ought thy remembraunce, and perpetuall band 
Be to thy foster-child, that from thy hand 
Did commun breath and nouriture receave ! 
How brutish is it not to understand 
How much to her we owe, that all us gave; 
That gave unto us all, whatever good we have ! " 






228 RICHARD HARDING DAVIS 



THE DEATH OF RODRIGUEZ 

By Richard Harding Davis, Novelist, Short- story writer, Journalist. 
Born in Philadelphia, Penn., 1864. 

Reprinted, by permission of the publisher, from " Cuba in War Time," copyright 
1898, by R. H. Russell, New York. 

Adolfo Rodriguez was the only son of a Cuban farmer. 
When the revolution broke out young Rodriguez joined the 
insurgents, leaving his father and mother and two sisters at 
the farm. He was taken by the Spanish, was tried by a 
military court for bearing arms against the government, and 
sentenced to be shot by a fusillade some morning before 
sunrise. His execution took place a half mile distant from 
the city, on the great plain that stretches from the forts out 
to the hills, beyond which Rodriguez had lived for nineteen 
years. 

There had been a full moon the night preceding the execu- 
tion, and when the squad of soldiers marched out from town 
it was still shining brightly through the mists. It lighted a 
plain two miles in extent broken by ridges and gullies and 
covered with thick, high grass and with bunches of cactus 
and palmetto. In the hollow of the ridges the mist lay like 
broad lakes of water, and on one side of the plain stood the 
walls of the old town. On the other rose hills covered with 
royal palms, that showed white in the moonlight, like 
hundreds of marble columns. A line of tiny camp-fires that 
the sentries had built during the night stretched between the 
forts at regular intervals and burned brightly. 

As the light increased a mass of people came hurrying from 
the town with two black figures leading them, and the 
soldiers drew up at attention, and part of the double line fell 
back and left an opening in the square. 

The merciful Spaniards made the prisoner walk for over 
half a mile across the broken surface of the fields. I 
expected to find the man stumbling and faltering on this 



THE DEATH OF RODRIGUEZ 229 

cruel journey, but as he came nearer I saw that he led all 
the others, and the priests on either side of him were tripping 
on their gowns and stumbling over the hollows, in their 
efforts to keep pace with him as he walked, erect and 
soldierly, at a quick step in advance of them. 

He had a handsome, gentle face of the peasant type, a 
light, pointed beard, great wistful eyes, and a mass of curly 
black hair. He was shockingly young for such a sacrifice, 
and looked more like a Neapolitan than a Cuban. You 
could imagine him sitting on the quay at Naples or Genoa, 
lolling in the sun and showing his white teeth when he 
laughed. He wore a new scapula around his neck, hanging 
outside his linen blouse. 

It was very quickly finished with rough, and, but for one 
frightful blunder, with merciful swiftness. The crowd fell 
back when it came to the square, and the condemned man, 
the priests, and the firing squad of six young volunteers 
passed in and the line closed behind them. 

Rodriguez bent and kissed the cross which the priest held 
up before him. He then walked to where the officer directed 
him to stand, and turned his back to the square and faced 
the hills and the road across them which led to his father's 
farm. As the officer gave the first command he straightened 
himself as far as the cords would allow, and held up his head 
and fixed his eyes immovably on the morning light which 
had just begun to show above the hills. 

He made a picture of such pathetic helplessness, but of 
such courage and dignity, that he reminded me on the 
instant of that statue of Nathan Hale, which stands in the 
City Hall Park, above the roar of Broadway, and teaches a 
lesson daily to the hurrying crowds of money-makers who 
pass beneath. But there was this difference, that Rodriguez, 
while probably as willing to give six lives for his country as 
was the American rebel, being only a peasant, did not think 
to say so, and he will not, in consequence, live in bronze 
during the lives of many men, but will be remembered only 



230 RICHARD HARDING DAVIS 

as one of thirty Cubans, one of whom was shot at Santa 
Clara on each succeeding day at sunrise. 

The officer had given the order, the men had raised their 
pieces, and the condemned man had heard the clicks of the 
triggers as they were pulled back, and he had not moved. 
And then happened one of the most cruelly refined, though 
unintentional, acts of torture that one can very well imagine. 
As the officer slowly raised his sword, preparatory to giving 
the signal, one of the mounted officers rode up to him and 
pointed out silently, that the firing squad were so placed that 
when they fired they would shoot several of the soldiers 
stationed on the extreme end of the square. 

Their captain motioned his men to lower their pieces, and 
then walked across the grass and laid his hand on the 
shoulder of the waiting prisoner. It is not pleasant to think 
what that shock must have been. The man had steeled 
himself to receive a volley of bullets in the back. He 
believed that in the next instant he would be in another 
world; he had heard the command given, had heard the click 
of the Mausers as the locks caught — and then, at that 
supreme moment, a human hand had been laid upon his 
shoulder and a voice spoke in his ear. 

You would expect that any man who had been snatched 
back to life in such a fashion would start and tremble at the 
reprieve, or would break down altogether, but this boy 
turned his head steadily, and followed with his eyes the 
direction of the officer's sword, then nodded his head gravely, 
and with his shoulders squared, took up a new position, 
straightened his back again, and once more held himself 
erect. As an exhibition of self-control this should surely 
rank above feats of heroism performed in battle, where there 
are thousands of comrades to give inspiration. This man 
was alone, in sight of the hills he knew, with only enemies 
about him, with no source to draw on for strength but that 
which lay within himself. 

The officer of the firing squad, mortified by his blunder, 



THE DEATH OF RODRIGUEZ 231 

hastily whipped up his sword, the men once more leveled 
their rifles, the sword rose, dropped, and the men fired. At 
the report the Cuban's head snapped back almost between 
his shoulders, bat his body fell slowly, as though some one 
had pushed him gently forward from behind and he had 
stumbled. He sank on his side in the wet grass without a 
struggle or sound, and did not move again. 

It was difficult to believe that he meant to lie there, that 
it could be ended so without a word, that the man in the 
linen suit would not get up on his feet and continue to walk 
on over the hills to his home. But the figure lay on the 
grass untouched and no one seemed to remember that it had 
walked there of itself. 

It was a thing of the past, and the squad shook itself like 
a great snake, and then broke into little pieces and started 
off jauntily, stumbling in the high grass and striving to keep 
step to the music. From all parts of the city the church- 
bells jangled out the call for early mass, and the whole 
world of Santa Clara seemed to stir and stretch itself and to 
wake to welcome the day just begun. 

But as I fell in at the rear of the procession and looked 
back, the figure of the young Cuban, who was no longer a 
part of the world of Santa Clara, was asleep in the wet grass, 
with his motionless arms still tightly bound behind him, with 
the scapula twisted awry across his face and the blood from 
his breast sinking into the soil he had tried to free. 



232 WILLIAM EUSTIS RUSSELL 



THE COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACHUSETTS 

By William Eustis Russell, Lawyer, Statesman; Governor of Massa- 
chusetts, 1890-93. Born in Cambridge, Mass., 1857; died in Canada, 
1896. 

From a speech made at the annual festival of the New England Society in the City of 
New York, Dec. 22, 1893. See New York Tribune, Dec. 23, 1893. 

Thomas W. Higginsonin his introduction to " Speeches and Addresses 
ofW. E. Russell," says : "No one ever heard him utter the words, l the 
dear old Commonwealth,' without discovering that he has what the 
French call ' tears in his voice ' ; and no one can know him well without 
recognizing that those thrilling tones represent in this case profound 
feeling." . 

Gladly to-night when for the last time I speak for Massa- 
chusetts officially, I avail myself of the privilege of laying at 
her feet the humble tribute of a loving son. 

One is apt to judge a State solely by evidence of her 
material prosperity; to think only of her acres and dollars, 
her population and cities, her industries and material 
resources. Important and great as these are, I fancy the 
Puritans would have called them " the outward things," and 
not the only or the truest test of her real strength and 
grandeur. Or else one thinks of her only as a great power, 
ever enforcing obedience to her sovereign will. To us, her 
children and citizens, she is far less a governing power than 
a guiding, uplifting influence, ever setting before us high 
ideals of life and its meaning, and ever leading in great 
agitations for freedom and humanity. This is the real 
Massachusetts. To understand her, one must go back to 
the early days and work which to-night we commemorate. 
' They were wise, farseeing men who founded our colony 
and Commonwealth. It seemed to be given them to look 
down the future and to know that they were church-building 
and nation-building, founding institutions which were to 
last as long as men should fear God and love liberty. 

They were serious men, these, our founders and forefathers. 
We laugh now at their long faces and mournful manners, 



THE COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACHUSETTS 233 

but we forget that theirs was no holiday pastime. They 
were not seeking how easiest to live, but how best to live 
"for God's glory and the Church's good." They bound 
Church and State together in a union which would not now 
be tolerated, but by their labor and sacrifices they planted, 
beside the Church, the school and the town-meeting, and 
made these the foundations for an intelligent, liberty-loving, 
God-fearing people. 

We care not so much now for the distinctive doctrines of 
their faith as for the fact that they had faith; not so much 
for the scruples of their conscience as that for conscience sake 
they dared to suffer; not so much for their suffering as that 
in spite of it they never yielded. That was the stuff out of 
which to make Commonwealths that were to last; that was 
the warp which, wrought into the fiber of our national life, 
has made it strong and permanent. With all their short- 
comings there was dominant in the founders a sense of duty 
and responsibility, a serious view of life and its work, which 
developed strength and character, self-reliant men and free 
institutions, making the basis of a State, education, piety, 
and self-government. 

This was the beginning of Massachusetts, and this spirit 
ever since has marked her life. What do we owe to it ? I 
give the Yankee answer, What do we not owe to it ? Massa- 
chusetts from it gets a sturdiness of character, an independ- 
ence of thought and action, a willingness to assert and fight 
for honest convictions, which have been her very backbone, 
and through her a potent influence in our national develop- 
ment. 

You can trace this down in all our after life, in the early 
wars for self-defense, in the later wars for independence, and 
against the tyranny of foreign power, and, generations later, 
in our war for union and liberty. It is this which gives 
point and meaning to our great historic monuments. They 
exist because of the continuity of this influence. 

' ' When the tall gray shaft of Bunker Hill speaks greetings 



234 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 

to Memorial Hall," it is the Puritan of 1775 speaking to the 
Puritan of 1861, and both recalling the patriotism and char- 
acter, the struggle and the sacrifices of the past, nerving us 
as bravely to do our duty. How well Phillips illustrated this 
in his plea for the preservation of the Old South meeting- 
house, so dear to the New England heart. He was answer- 
ing the argument that the Old South was not worth saving 
because it had changed in form and did not meet approved 
architectural standards, and he was asserting that it had a 
deeper meaning and a truer purpose than these outward 
things. " True," he said, " it has changed; it is not sightly 
to the eye; but when the troops went forth in '61 to fight 
for their country and liberty, as they passed the old building 
there was something within its homely walls which spoke to 
them. Reverently they lifted their caps, broke forth in 
cheers, and passed on, braver, truer men." 

It was the character and soul of the Commonwealth which 
spoke, reminding them of her glorious past. Their cheers 
answered that her honor was safe in their keeping. 

Through the lives of counltess noble men and women, 
who have been steadfast to the virtues which to-day we com- 
memorate, Massachusetts has spoken to the world. Who 
doubts that the world is better for her work and her message ? 



THE TRAVELER'S STORY 

By James Whitcomb Riley, Poet, Story-writer. Born at Greenfield, 
Indiana, 1853. 

Taken from " A Child-World," by James Whitcomb Riley, copyright 1896. Used by 
permission of the publishers, The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis, Ind., U.S.A. 

Eastward of Zanesville, two or three 

Miles from the town, as our stage drove in, 

I on the driver's seat, and he 

Pointing out this and that to me, — 

On beyond us — among the rest — 

A grovey slope, and a fluttering throng 



THE TRAVELER'S STORY 235 

Of little children, which he " guessed " 

Was a picnic, as we caught their thin 

High laughter, as we drove along, 

Clearer and clearer. Then suddenly 

He turned and asked, with a curious grin, 

What were my views on Slavery? " Why? " 

I asked, in return, with a wary eye. 

" Because," he answered, pointing his whip 

At a little whitewashed house and shed 

On the edge of the road by the grove ahead, — 

" Because there are two slaves there" he said — 

" Two black slaves that I've passed each trip 

For eighteen years. Though they've been set free, 

They have been slaves ever since! " said he. 

And, as our horses slowly drew 

Nearer the little house in view, 

All briefly I heard the history 

Of this little old negro woman and 

Her husband, house and scrap of land ; 

How they were slaves and had been made free 

By their dying master, years ago 

In old Virginia; and then had come 

North here into a free State — so, 

Safe forever, to found a home — 

For themselves alone ? — for they left South there 

Five strong sons, who had, alas! 

All been sold ere it came to pass 

This first old master with his last breath 

Had freed the parents. . . . 

Thus, with their freedom, and little sum 

Of money left them, these two had come 

North, full twenty long years ago; 

And, settling there, they had hopefully 

Gone to work, in their simple way, 

Hauling — gardening — raising sweet 

Corn, and popcorn. Bird and bee 



236 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 

In the garden-blooms and the apple-tree 
Singing with them throughout the slow 
Summer's day, with its dust and heat — 
The crops that thirst and the rains that fail ; 
Or in autumn chill, when the clouds hung low, 
And hand-made hominy might find sale 
In the near town-market ; or baking pies 
And cakes, to range in alluring show 
At the little window, where the eyes 
Of the Movers' children, driving past, 
Grew fixed, till the big white wagons drew 
Into a halt that would sometimes last 
Even the space of an hour or two. . . . 
Even so had they wrought all ways 
To earn the pennies, and hoard them, too, — 
And with what ultimate end in view ? — 
They were saving up money enough to be 
Able, in time, to buy their own 
Five children back. 

Ah ! the toil gone through ! 
And the long delays and the heartaches, too, 
And self-denials that they had known ! 
But the pride and glory that was theirs 
When they first hitched up their shackly cart 
For the long, long journey South. — The start 
In the first drear light of the chilly dawn, 
With no friends gathered in grieving throng, — 
With no farewells and favoring prayers; 
But, as they creaked and jolted on, 
Their chiming voices broke in song — 

' ' ' Hail, all hail ! don't you see the stars a-fallin' ? 
Hail, all hail ! I'm on my way. 

Gideon am 

A healin' ba'm — 
I belong to the blood-washed army. 

Gideon am 

A healin' ba'm — 

On my way ! ' " 



THE TRAVELER'S STORY 237 

And their return! — with their oldest boy 
Along with them ! Why, their happiness 
Spread abroad till it grew a joy 
Universal — It even reached 

And thrilled the town till the Church was stirred 
Into suspecting that wrong was wrong! — 
And it stayed awake as the preacher preached 
A Real " Love "-text that he had not long 
To ransack for in the Holy Word. 

And the son, restored, and welcomed so, 
Found service readily in the town; 
And, with the parents, sure and slow, 
He went " saltin' de cole cash down." 

So with the next boy — and each one 

In turn, till four of the five at last 

Had been brought back; and, in each case, 

With steady work and good homes not 

Far from the parents, they chipped in 

To the family fund, with an equal grace. 

Thus they managed and planned and wrought, 

And the old folks throve — Till the night before 

They were to start for the lone last son 

In the rainy dawn — their money fast 

Hid away in the house, — two mean, 

Murderous robbers burst the door. 

. . . Then, in the dark, was a scuffle — a fall — 

An old man's gasping cry — and then 

A woman's fife-like shriek. 

. . . Three men 
Splashing by on horseback heard 
The summons : and in an instant all 
Sprung to their duty, with scarce a word. 
And they were in time — not only to save 
The lives of the old folks, but to bag 



2 33 JAMES WHIT COMB RILEY 

Both the robbers, and buck-and-gag 
And land them safe in the county jail — 
Or, as Aunty said, with a blended awe 
And subtlety, — " Safe in de calaboose whah 
De dawgs caint bite 'em! " 

— So prevail 
The faithful ! — So had the Lord upheld 
His servants of both deed and prayer, — 
His the glory unparalleled — 
Theirs the reward, — their every son 
Free, at last, as the parents were! 
And, as the driver ended there 
In front of the little house, I said, 
All fervently, " Well done! well done! " 
At which he smiled, and turned his head 
And pulled on the leaders' lines and — " See! ' 
He said, " you can read old Aunty's sign." 

And, though I read aloud, I could 

Scarce hear myself for laugh and shout 

Of children — a glad multitude 

Of little people, swarming out 

Of the picnic-grounds I spoke about. — 

And in their rapturous midst I see 

Again — through mists of memory — 

A black old negress laughing up 

At the driver, with her broad lips rolled 

Back from her teeth, chalk-white, and gums 

Redder than reddest red-ripe plums. 

He took from her hand the lifted cup 

Of clear spring-water, pure and cold, 

And passed it to me : And I raised my hat 

And drank to her with a reverence that 

My conscience knew was justly due 

The old black face, and the old eyes, too — 

The old black head, with its mossy mat 



241 



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po 1 


ver 


CL 






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mowi 


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> of 


XI 


S3 





THE TRUE POWER OF A 

Of hair, set under its cap and frills 
White as the snows on Alpine hills ;| 
Drank to the old black smile, but y< 
Bright as the sun on the violet,— 
Drank to the gnarled and knuckled! 
Black hands whose palms had ache* 
And pitilessly been worn pale 
And white almost as the palms that hold 
Slavery's lash while the victim's wail 
Fails as a crippled prayer might fail. — 
Ay, with a reverence infinite, 
I drank to the old black face and head — 
The old black breast with its life of light — 
The old black hide with its heart of gold. 



THE TRUE POWER OF A NATION 

By Edwin Hubbell Chapin, Preacher. Lecturer, Essayist. Born at 
Union Village, N. Y., 1814; died in New York City, 1880. 

Selected, by permission of the publishers, from Chapin's " Living Words," published 
in 1869, by the Universalist Publishing Co., Boston, Mass. 

Christianity is the true conserving and developing power 
of a nation. All time demonstrates this truth. What is the 
source of progress and safety to a people ? Let " the vocal 
earth," let the graves of buried nations, answer. One after 
another they have arisen, — they have built their towers of 
strength, and fortified their lofty walls, — they have opened 
their sources of wealth, and hardened their sinews of power; 
and for what object ? For perpetuity and success. Go 
linger around the desolate spot where stood Chaldea, — go 
question the fallen columns of Tadmor, — go seek the mystic 
pyramids of Egypt, — go ask the Acropolis or the Capitol; — 
go speak to one or all of these, and they will tell you that 
the hearts which have withered to ashes beneath their ruins, 
that the minds which were their pride and their glory, that 
the hands which strengthened their power, were all moved 



240 EDIVIN HUBBELL CHOPIN 

by the great idea of adding to their prosperity and greatness, 
and perpetuating their station in the earth. Surely, then, 
here in this pillared past we may ascertain the source of a 
nation's prosperity and conservation; at least we may ascer- 
tain what it is not. 

Is it wealth ? Where is Lydia ? Its inhabitants ' ' pos- 
sessed a fertile territory and a profusion of silver/' But its 
vast treasures were no walls of defense; the riches of Gyges 
and Croesus were not its safeguards. It was swept by the 
sword of Cyrus, trampled under foot by the victorious hordes 
of Persia. 

Has intellectual excellence alone secured perpetuity and 
progress to empire ? Where is Greece ? Its very soil is 
animate with mind, and its every pillar, like ancient 
Memnon, breathes music to the sun. Its moldering altars 
are garlanded with poetry, and eloquence and philosophy 
kindle amid its desolations. The home of Socrates and 
Plato, Demosthenes and ^schylus, Pericles and Homer, — 
what is it ? Did its intellectual greatness, its glorious poetry, 
its lofty philosophy, its burning eloquence, its glowing can- 
vas, its lifelike marble save it from the dust ? Did Spartan 
heroism gather around it in the hour of peril ? Did Attic 
genius flash up from its altars, like guardian flame ? It went 
down at last; the wave of desolation rolls over it. 

Can power insure prosperity and safety to a nation ? 
Where is ancient Rome ? Where is the crowned and imperial 
city that sat upon her seven hills, and sent her armies 
through the earth ? Her " eagle flag unrolled, and froze" 
by the icy streams of the north; the bones of her legions 
covered the burning sands like drifting snow; her triumphant 
shouts pealed up from the hills of Gaul and the chalky cliffs 
of Britain, and were answered by her hosts from far Jerusalem 
and Damascus. Over the face of the known world, you 
entered no walled city where stood not a Roman sentinel, 
you passed no crowd in which was not heard the Latin 
tongue. Where is the proud city of the Capitol ? Where 



REVERENCE FOR THE FLAG 241 

are the mailed hand and the kingly brow ? Did her power 
start forth from the tomb of Julius, did her ancient renown 
appear in the person of Augustus, when the eager hordes of 
Goth and Hun rushed upon her palaces, quenched the light 
on her altars, shattered her glorious marbles, and trampled 
with barbaric exultation on her purple pride ? Her very 
tomb is crumbling beneath the breath of time. 

I know that these references are trite; yet would I urge 
you to seize upon the deep burden of their meaning, to feel 
their cogency. They demonstrate that wealth, knowledge, 
power, without a controlling influence, — without a right 
motive for their direction, — are not the sources of conserva- 
tion and true progress. 



REVERENCE FOR THE FLAG 

By Horace Porter, Brigadier-General. Lecturer, Author; United 
States Ambassador to France, 1897 — . Born in Huntington, Penn., 
i8 3 7- 
From a speech at a banquet of the New England Society in New York, December 

22, 1891. See New York Tribune, Dec. 23, 1891. 

In preserving among the sons that spirit of patriotism 
which has been handed down from the sires, I know of no 
better method of inculcating this sentiment in the minds of 
the youth of the rising generation than an effort to inspire 
them with a still more exalted respect and reverence for the 
flag — that symbol of national supremacy, that emblem of the 
country's glory. They should be taught that that flag is not 
simply a banner for holiday display; that it is not merely a 
piece of bunting which can be purchased for a few shillings 
in the nearest shop, but that it is the proud emblem of dig- 
nity, authority, power; that if insulted, millions will spring 
to its defense. They should be taught that as that flag is 
composed of and derives its chief beauty from its different 
colors, so should its ample folds cover and protect its citi- 
zens of different color. 



242 HORACE PORTER 

It is for these reasons that I like to see the flags of the 
war for the integrity of the Union carried through the streets 
in the hands of our veterans upon _/"<?/<? days. Those precious 
war-banners, bullet-riddled, battle-stained, many of them 
but remnants of their former selves, with scarcely enough 
left of them on which to imprint the names of the battles 
they had seen. "Every tattered shred which flutters in the 
breeze is an object lesson in patriotism. The youth of the 
land should be made to feel that their country's flag is to be 
their pillar of cloud by day, their pillar of fire by night; that 
it is to wave above them in victory, be their rallying-point 
in defeat, and if, perchance, they offer up their lives a sacri- 
fice in its defense, its crimson stripes will mingle with their 
generous heart's blood; its gentle folds will rest upon their 
bosom in death; its very presence there upon their bodies, 
coffined or uncoffined, will write a more enduring epitaph 
than that on the sarcophagus in which the great Sesostris 
sleeps. 

That flag should be kept everywhere in view. It is par- 
ticularly necessary in a land like this, in which there are so 
many who have been reared under foreign flags, and who 
cannot be made too familiar with the flag of the great 
Republic. I think there would be nothing more grateful to 
the hearts of the American people than to have it ordained 
by national and State enactment that the flag of the country 
should be hoisted over every Government building, every 
public place, every prominent memorial, and especially over 
every schoolhouse — kept there by day and by night, through 
calm and through storm, and never hauled down. At the 
beginning of our last war a rallying cry rang throughout the 
land, which quickened every pulse, which made the blood 
tingle in the veins of every loyal citizen — a rallying cry which 
we cannot too often repeat: " If any man hauls down the 
American flag, shoot him on the spot. ' ' 



THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOIV 243 



THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW 

By Robert Trail Spence Lowell. Clergyman, Author, Poet. Born 
in Boston, Mass., 181 6; died 1 891. 

Oh ! that last day in Lucknow fort ; 

We knew that it was the last, 
That the enemy's mines had crept surely in, 

And the end was coming fast. 



To yield to that foe meant worse than death, 

And the men and we all worked on ; 
It was one day more of smoke and roar, 

And then it would all be done. 

There was one of us, a corporal's wife, 

A fair young gentle thing, 
Wasted with fever in the siege, 

And her mind was wandering. 

She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid, 

And I took her head on my knee; 
" When my father comes hame frae the pleugh, " she said, 

" Oh! please then waken me." 

She slept like a child on her father's floor, 

In the flecking of woodbine shade, 
When the house-dog sprawls by the half-open door, 

And the mother's wheel is stayed. 

It was smoke and roar and powder-stench, 

And hopeless waiting for death; 
But the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child, 

Seemed scarce to draw her breath. 



244 ROBERT TRAIL SPENCE LOWELL 

I sank to sleep and I had my dream 

Of an English village lane 
And wall and garden — till a sudden scream 

Brought me back to the roar again. 

There Jessie Brown stood listening, 
And then a broad gladness broke 

All over her face, and she took my hand, 
And drew me near and spoke : 

' ' The Highlanders ! Oh, dinna ye hear 

The slogan far awa' ? 
The McGregor's ? Ah! I ken it weel; 

It's the grandest of them a'. 

" God bless thae bonny Highlanders; 

We're saved! we're saved! " she cried; 
And fell on her knees, and thanks to God 

Poured forth like a full flood tide. 



Along the battery line her cry 
Had fallen among the men ; 

And they started ; for they were there to die- 
Was life so near them then ? 

They listened, for life; and the rattling fire 

Far off, and the far-off roar 
Were all, — and the colonel shook his head, 

And they turned to their guns once more. 

Then Jessie said, " That slogan's dune, 
But can ye no hear them, noo ? 

The Campbells are comin ! It's nae a dream, 
Our succors hae broken through! " 



THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOIV 245 

We heard the roar and the rattle afar, 

But the pipes we could not hear; 
So the men plied their work of hopeless war, 

And knew that the end was near. 

It was not long ere it must be heard, 

A shrilling, ceaseless sound; 
It was no noise of the strife afar, 

Or the sappers under ground. 

It was the pipes of the Highlanders, 

And now they played " Auld Lang Syne " ; 

It came to our men like the voice of God ; 
And they shouted along the line. 

And they wept and shook one other's hands, 

And the women sobbed in a crowd ; 
And every one knelt down where we stood, 

And we all thanked God aloud. 

That happy day, when we welcomed them in, 

Our men put Jessie first ; 
And the General took her hand ; and cheers 

From the men like a volley burst. 

And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed, 

Marching round and round our line; 
And our joyful cheers were broken with tears, 

As the pipes played " Auld Lang Syne." 



246 HENRY CABOT LODGE 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 

By Henry Cabot Lodge, Lawyer, Editor, Author; Member of Con- 
gress from Massachusetts, 1886-93; Senator, 1893 — . Born in 
Boston, Mass., 1850. 

Taken, by permission of the author, from a speech made at the dinner to Robert E. 
Lee Camp of Confederate Veterans, in Boston, June 17, 1887. See " Speeches of 
Henry Cabot Lodge," copyright, 1892, by H. C. Lodge, published by Houghton, 
Mifflin & Co., Boston. 

I do not stand up in this presence to indulge in any mock 
sentimentality. You brave men who wore the gray would 
be the first to hold me or any other son of the North in just 
contempt if I should say that, now it was all over, I thought 
the North was wrong and the result of the war a mistake, 
and that I was prepared to suppress my political opinions. 
I believe most profoundly that the war on our side was 
eternally right, that our victory was the salvation of the 
country, and that the results of the war were of infinite 
benefit to both North and South. But, however we differed, 
or still differ, as to the causes for which we fought then, we 
accept them as settled, commit them to history, and fight 
over them no more. To the men who fought the battles of 
the Confederacy we hold out our hands freely, frankly, and 
gladly. To courage and faith wherever shown we bow in 
homage with uncovered heads. We respect and honor the 
gallantry and valor of the brave men who fought against us, 
and who gave their lives and shed their blood in defense of 
what they believed to be right. We rejoice that the famous 
general whose name is borne upon your banner was one of 
the greatest soldiers of modern times, because he, too, was 
an American. We have no bitter memories to revive, no 
reproaches to utter. Reconciliation is not to be sought, 
because it exists already. Differ in politics and in a 
thousand other ways we must and shall in all good-nature, 
but let us never differ with each other on sectional or State 
lines, by race or creed. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 247 

We welcome you, soldiers of Virginia, as others more 
eloquent than I have said, to New England. We welcome 
you to old Massachusetts. We welcome you to Boston and 
to Faneuil Hall. In your presence here, and at the sound 
of your voices beneath this historic roof, the years roll back 
and we see the figure and hear again the ringing tones of 
your great orator, Patrick Henry, declaring to the first Con- 
tinental Congress, ' ' The distinctions between Virginians, 
Pennsylvanians, New Yorkers, and New Englanders are no 
more. I am not a Virginian, but an American." A dis- 
tinguished Frenchman, as he stood among the graves at 
Arlington, said : ' ' Only a great people is capable of a great 
civil war." Let us add with thankful hearts that only a 
great people is capable of a great reconciliation. Side by 
side, Virginia and Massachusetts led the colonies into the 
War for Independence. Side by side they founded the 
government of the United States. Morgan and Greene, Lee 
and Knox, Moultrie and Prescott, men of the South and 
men of the North, fought shoulder to shoulder, and wore the 
same uniform of buff and blue, — the uniform of Washington. 

Your presence here brings back their noble memories, it 
breathes the spirit of concord, and unites with so many other 
voices in the irrevocable message of union and good will. 
Mere sentiment all this, some may say. But it is sentiment, 
true sentiment, that has moved the world. Sentiment fought 
the war, and sentiment has reunited us. When the war 
closed, it was proposed in the newspapers and elsewhere to 
give Governor Andrew, who had sacrificed health and 
strength and property in his public duties, some immediately 
lucrative office, like the collectorship of the port of Boston. 
A friend asked him if he would take such a place. " No," 
said he; "I have stood as high priest between the horns of 
the altar, and I have poured out upon it the best blood of 
Massachusetts, and I cannot take money for that." Mere 
sentiment truly, but the sentiment which ennobles and 
uplifts mankind. It is sentiment which so hallows a bit of 



248 HENRY WOODFEN GRADY 

torn, stained bunting, that men go gladly to their deaths to 
save it. So I say that the sentiment manifested by your 
presence here, brethren of Virginia, sitting side by side with 
those who wore the blue, has a far-reaching and gracious 
influence, of more value than many practical things. It tells 
us that these two grand old Commonwealths, parted in the 
shock of the Civil War, are once more side by side as in the 
days of the Revolution, never to part again. It tells us that 
the sons of Virginia and Massachusetts, if war should break 
again upon the country, will, as in the olden days, stand 
once more shoulder to shoulder, with no distinction in the 
colors that they wear. It is fraught with tidings of peace on 
earth, and you may read its meaning in the words on yonder 
picture, " Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and in- 
separable. ' ' 

THE SOUTHERN NEGRO 

By Henry Woodfen Grady, Journalist, Orator. Born at Athens, Ga., 
185 1 ; died at Atlanta, 1889. 

Taken from a speech at the banquet of the Boston Merchants' Association, December, 
1889. See " Henry W. Grady : His Life, Writings, and Speeches," published in 1890, 
by The Cassell Publishing Company, New York, N. Y. 

Far to the South lies the fairest and richest domain of 
this earth. There by night the cotton whitens beneath the 
stars, and by day the wheat locks the sunshine in its bearded 
sheaf. There are mountains stored with exhaustless treas- 
ures, forests, vast and primeval, and rivers that, tumbling 
or loitering, run wanton to the sea. But why is it, though 
the sectional line be now but a mist that the breath may dis- 
pel, fewer men of the North have crossed it over to the 
South, than when it was crimson with the best blood of the 
Republic, or even when the slave-holder stood guard every 
inch of its way ? There can be but one answer. It is the 
very problem we are now to consider. My people, your 
brothers in the South — brothers in blood, in destiny, in all 
that is best in our past and future — are so beset with this 



THE SOUTHERN NEGRO 249 

problem that their very existence depends upon its right 
solution. 

I thank God as heartily as you do that human slavery is 
gone forever from the American soil. But the freedman 
remains. With him a problem without precedent or parallel. 
Note its appalling conditions. Two utterly dissimilar races 
on the same soil — with equal civil and political rights — 
almost equal in numbers, but terribly unequal in intelligence 
and responsibility — each pledged against fusion — one for a 
century in servitude to the other, and -freed at last by a 
desolating war — the experiment sought by neither, but 
approached by both with doubt, — these are the conditions. 

The President of the United States, discussing the plea 
that the South should be left to solve this problem, asks : 
" Are they at work upon it ? What solution do they offer ? 
When will the black man cast a free ballot ? " When will 
the black cast a free ballot ? When ignorance anywhere is 
not dominated by the will of the intelligent; when the 
laborer anywhere casts a vote unhindered by his boss, — then 
and not till then will the ballot of the negro be free. 

Meantime we treat the negro fairly, measuring to him 
justice in the fullness the strong should give to the weak, 
and leading him in the steadfast ways of citizenship, that he 
may no longer be the prey of the unscrupulous and the 
sport of the thoughtless. The love we feel for that race you 
cannot measure nor comprehend. As I attest it here, the 
spirit of my old black mammy from her home up there looks 
down to bless, and through the tumult of this night steals 
the sweet music of her crooning, as thirty years ago she held 
me in her black arms and led me smiling into sleep. 

This scene vanishes as I speak, and I catch a vision of an 
old Southern home, with its lofty pillars and its white 
pigeons fluttering down through the golden air. I see 
women with strained and anxious faces, and children alert 
yet helpless. I see night come down with its dangers and 
its apprehensions, and in a big homely room I feel on my 



250 HENRY IVOODFEN GRADY 

tired head the touch of loving hands — now worn and 
wrinkled, but fairer to me yet than the hands of mortal 
woman, and stronger yet to lead me than the hands of 
mortal man — as they lay a mother's blessing there, while at 
her knees — the truest altar I yet have found — I thank God 
that she is safe in her sanctuary because her slaves, sentinel 
in the silent cabin or guard at her chamber door, put a black 
man's loyalty between her and danger. 

I catch another vision. The crisis of battle — a soldier 
struck, staggering, fallen. I see a slave scuffling through 
the smoke, winding his black arms about the fallen form, 
reckless of the hurtling death, bending his trusty face to catch 
the words that tremble on the stricken lips, so wrestling 
meantime with agony that he would lay down his life in his 
master's stead. I see him by the weary bedside, ministering 
with uncomplaining patience, praying with all his humble 
heart that God will lift his master up, until death comes in 
mercy and in honor to still the soldier's agony and seal the 
soldier's life. I see him by the open grave, mute, motion- 
less, uncovered, suffering for the death of him who in life 
fought against his freedom. 

I see him when the mound is heaped and the great drama 
of his life is closed, turn away and with downcast eyes and 
uncertain step start out into new and strange fields, falter- 
ing, struggling, but moving on, until his shambling figure is 
lost in the light of this better and brighter day. And from 
the grave comes a voice, saying: "Follow him! Put your 
arms about him in his need, even as he once put his about 
me. Be his friend, as he was mine." And out into this 
new world — strange to me as to him, dazzling, bewildering 
both — I follow. And may God forget my people when 
they forget these ! 



THE CHARIOT RACE 251 



THE CHARIOT RACE 



By Lew Wallace. General, Lawyer, Diplomat, Novelist; United 
States Minister to Turkey, 1881-85. Born at Brookville, Ind., 1827; 
resides at Crawfordsville, Ind. 

Taken, by permission of the publishers, from "Ben-Hur," by Lew Wallace. Copy 
right, 1880, 1891, 1899, by Harper & Brothers, New York. 

The preparations were now complete. Straightway the 
stir of the people and the hum of their conversation died 
away. Every face near by and every face in the lessening 
perspective turned to the east, as all eyes settled upon the 
gates of the six stalls which shut in the competitors. 

The trumpet sounded short and sharp. Forth from each 
stall, like missiles in a volley from so many great guns, 
rushed the six fours; and up the vast assemblage arose, 
electrified and irrepressible, and, leaping upon the benches, 
filled the circus and the air above it with yells and screams. 
The arena swam in a dazzle of light; yet each driver looked 
first for the rope, then for the coveted inner line. So, all 
six aiming at the same point and speeding furiously, a colli- 
sion seemed inevitable. Nothing daunted, the Roman 
shook out his long lash, loosed the reins, leaned forward, 
and, with a triumphant shout, took the wall. 

"Jove with us! Jove with us!" yelled all the Roman 
faction, in a frenzy of delight. The race was on; the souls 
of the racers were in it ; over them bent the myriads. 

For a moment Ben Hur was half-blinded by the light in 
the arena; yet he managed to catch sight of his antagonists 
and divine their purpose. At Messala, who was more than 
an antagonist to him, he gave one searching look. He saw 
the soul of the man, as through a glass, cruel, cunning, 
desperate. In a time not longer than was required to turn 
to his four again Ben Hur felt his own resolution harden to 
a like temper. At whatever cost, he would humble this 
enemy! Yet there was no passion, no blinding rush of 
heated blood from heart to brain and back again. He had 



252 LEW WALLACE 

his plan, and he settled to the task, never more observant, 
never more capable. 

Ben Hur yielded the wall for the time. He drew head to 
the right, and with all the speed of his Arabs darted across 
the trails of his opponents, and took the course neck and 
neck with Messala. And now, racing together side by side, 
a narrow interval between them, the two neared the second 
goal. " Down, Eros! up, Mars! " Messala shouted, whirl- 
ing his lash with practiced hand. " Down, Eros! up, 
Mars! " he repeated, and caught the well-doing Arabs of 
Ben Hur a cut the like of which they had never known. 
Then, involuntarily, down from the balcony, as thunder 
falls, burst the indignant cry of the people. The four sprang 
forward as with one impulse, and forward leaped the car. 
Where got Ben Hur the large hand and mighty grip which 
helped him now so well ? Where but from the oar with 
which so long he fought the sea ? And what was this spring 
of the floor under his feet to the dizzy, eccentric lurch with 
which in the old time the trembling ship yielded to the beat 
of staggering billows, drunk with their power ? 

So he kept his place, and gave the four free rein; and 
before the fever of the people began to abate he had back the 
mastery. Nor that only ; on approaching the first goal, he was 
again side by side with Messala, bearing with him the sym- 
pathy and admiration of every one not a Roman. ' ' Ben Hur ! 
Ben Hur! " they shouted. " Speed thee, Jew! " " Take the 
wall now!" "On! Loose the Arabs! Give them rein and 
scourge! " " Let him not have the turn on thee ! " Over 
the balustrade they stooped low, stretching their hands im- 
ploringly to him. 

And now, to make the turn, Messala began to draw in his 
left-hand steeds. His spirit was high; more than one altar 
was richer of his vows; the Roman genius was still president. 
On the three pillars only six hundred feet away were fame, 
increase of fortune, promotions, and a triumph ineffably 
sweetened by hate, all in store for him! That moment Ben 



THE CHARIOT RACE 253 

Hur leaned forward over his Arabs, and gave them the reins. 
Out flew the many-folded lash in his hand; over the backs 
of the startled steeds it writhed and hissed, and hissed and 
writhed again and again; and, though it fell not, there were 
both sting and menace in its quick report; and as the man 
passed thus from quiet to resistless action, his face suffused, 
his eyes gleaming, along the reins he seemed to flash his 
will; and instantly not one, but the four as one answered 
with a leap that landed them alongside the Roman's car. 
Messala, on the perilous edge of the goal, heard, but dared 
not look to see what the awakening portended. From the 
people he received no sign. Above the noises of the race 
there was but one voice, and that was Ben Hur's. In the 
old Aramaic, as the sheik himself, he called to the Arabs. 

"On, Atair! On, Rigel ! What, Antares! dost thou linger 
now ? Good horse- — oho, Aldebaran ! I hear them singing 
in the tents. I hear the children singing and the women — 
singing of the stars, of Atair, Antares, Rigel, Aldebaran, 
victory! And the song will never end. Well done! Home 
to-morrow, under the black tent — home! On, Antares! 
The tribe is waiting for us, and the master is waiting! 'Tis 
done! 'tis done! Ha, ha! We have overthrown the proud. 
The hand that smote us is in the dust. Ours the glory! 
Ha, ha! Steady! The work is done — soho! Rest!" 

The thousands on the benches understood it all. They 
saw the signal given, the magnificent response; the four close 
outside Messala's outer wheel, Ben Hur's inner wheel behind 
the other's car — all this they saw. Then they heard a crash 
loud enough to send a thrill through the Circus, and, 
quicker than thought, out over the course a spray of shining 
white and yellow flinders flew. Down on its right side 
toppled the bed of the Roman chariot. There was a rebound 
as of the axle hitting the hard earth; another and another; 
then the car went to pieces, and Messala, entangled in the 
reins, pitched forward headlong. 

The people arose, and leaped upon the benches, and 



254 HENRY G RAT TAN 

shouted and screamed. Those who looked that way caught 
glimpses of Messala, now under the trampling of the fours, 
now under the abandoned cars. He was still; they thought 
him dead; but far the greater number followed Ben Hur in 
his career. They had not seen the cunning touch of the 
reins by which, turning a little to the left, he caught Mes- 
sala' s wheel with the iron-shod point of his axle, and crushed 
it; but they had seen the transformation of the man, and 
themselves felt the heat and glow of his spirit, the heroic 
resolution, the maddening energy of action with which, by 
look, word, and gesture, he so suddenly inspired his Arabs. 
And such running! It was rather the long leaping of lions 
in harness; but for the lumbering chariot, it seemed the four 
were flying. When the Byzantine and Corinthian were half- 
way down the course Ben Hur turned the first goal. And 
the race was won ! 



REPLY TO MR. CORRY 

By Henry GraTTAN, Lawyer, Statesman. Born in Dublin, Ireland, 
1746; died in London, England, 1820. 

From a speech delivered in the Irish Parliament, during the debate on the union of 
Ireland to England, February 14, 1800. See Goodrich's "British Eloquence," pub- 
lished, in 1854, by Harper and Brothers, New York, N. Y. 

Has the gentleman done ? has he completely done ? He 
was unparliamentary from the beginning to the end of his 
speech. There was scarce a word he uttered that was not a 
violation of the privileges of the House. But I did not call 
him to order — why ? because the limited talents of some men 
render it impossible for them to be severe without being un- 
parliamentary. But before I sit down, I shall show him 
how to be severe and parliamentary at the same time. 

On any other occasion, I should think myself justifiable 
in treating with silent contempt anything which might fall 
from that honorable member; but there are times when the 
insignificance of the accuser is lost in the magnitude of the 



REPLY TO MR. CORRY 255 

accusation. I know the difficulty the honorable gentleman 
labored under when he attacked me, conscious that, on a 
comparative view of our characters, public and private, there 
is nothing he could say which would injure me. The public 
would not believe the charge. I despise the falsehood. If 
such a charge were made by an honest man, I would answer 
it in the manner I shall do before I sit down. But I shall 
first reply to it, when not made by an honest man. 

The right honorable gentleman has called me " an unim- 
peached traitor." I ask why not " traitor," unqualified by 
an epithet ? I will tell him — it was because he durst not. 
It was the act of a coward who raises his arm to strike, but 
has not the courage to give the blow. I will not call him 
villain, because it would be unparliamentary, and he is a 
privy counselor. I will not call him fool, because he hap- 
pens to be Chancellor of the Exchequer. But I say, he is 
one who has abused the privilege of Parliament, and freedom 
of debate, by uttering language which, if spoken out of the 
House, I should answer only with a blow. I care not how 
high his situation, how low his character, how contemptible 
his speech; whether a privy counselor or a parasite — my 
answer would be a blow. 

He has chaged me with being connected with the rebels. 
The charge is utterly, totally, and meanly false. Does the 
honorable gentleman rely on the report of the House of 
Lords for the foundation of his assertion ? If he does, I can 
prove to the committee that there was a physical impossi- 
bility of that report being true. But I scorn to answer any 
man for my conduct, whether he be a political coxcomb, or 
whether he brought himself into power by a false glare of 
courage or not. 

I have returned, — not, as the right honorable member has 
said, to raise another storm, — I have returned to discharge 
an honorable debt of gratitude to my country that conferred 
a great reward for past services, which, I am proud to say, 
was not greater than my desert. I have returned to protect 



256 ELIHU BURRITT 

that Constitution of which I was the parent and founder, 
from the assassination of such men as the right honorable 
gentleman and his unworthy associates. They are corrupt, 
they are seditious, and they at this very moment are in a 
conspiracy against their country. I have returned to refute 
a libel as false as it is malicious, given to the public under 
the appellation of a report of the committee of the Lords. 
Here I stand ready for impeachment or trial. I dare 
accusation. I defy the honorable gentleman; I defy the 
government; I defy their whole phalanx; let them come 
forth. I tell the ministers, I will neither give quarter nor 
take it. I am here to lay the shattered remains of my con- 
stitution on the floor of this House, in defense of the liberties 
of my country. 



ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST 

By Elihu Burritt, "The Learned Blacksmith," Linguist, Lecturer, 
Author. Born in New Britain, Conn., 181 1; died in New Britain, 
1879. 

The scene opens with a view of the great Natural Bridge 
in Virginia. There are three or four lads standing in the 
channel below, looking up with awe to that vast arch of 
unhewn rocks, which the Almighty bridged over those ever- 
lasting butments, ' ' when the morning stars sang together. ' ' 
The little piece of sky spanning those measureless piers is 
full of stars, although it is midday. 

It is almost five hundred feet from where they stand, up 
those perpendicular bulwarks of limestone to the key-rock 
of that vast arch which appears to them only of the size of a 
man's hand. The silence of death is rendered more impressive 
by the little stream that falls from rock to rock down the 
channel. The sun is darkened, and the boys have uncon- 
sciously uncovered their heads, as if standing in the presence- 
chamber of the majesty of the whole earth. 



ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST 257 

At last this feeling begins to wear away; they begin to look 
around them; they find that others have been there before 
them. They see the names of hundreds cut in the limestone 
butments. A new feeling comes over their young hearts, 
and their knives are in their hands in an instant. ' ' What 
man has done, man can do," is their watchword, while they 
draw themselves up, and carve their names a foot above those 
of a hundred full-grown men who have been there before 
them. 

They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion, 
except one. This ambitious youth sees a name just above 
his reach — a name that will be green in the memory of the 
world, when those of Alexander, Caesar, and Bonaparte shall 
be lost in oblivion. It was the name of Washington. 

It was a glorious thought of the boy, to write his name 
side by side with that of the great father of his country. He 
grasped his knife with a firmer hand, and clinging to a little 
jutting crag, he cuts a gain into the limestone, about a foot 
above where he stands; he then reaches up and cuts another 
for his hands. 

'Tis a dangerous adventure; but as he puts his feet and 
hands into those gains, and draws himself up carefully to his 
full length, he finds himself a foot above every name 
chronicled in that mighty wall. While his companions are 
regarding him with concern and admiration, he cuts his name 
in rude capitals, large and deep into that flinty album. 

His knife is still in his hand, and strength in his sinews, 
and a new created aspiration in his heart. Again he cuts 
another niche, and again he carves his name in larger 
capitals. This is not enough. Heedless of the entreaties 
of his companions, he cuts and climbs again. The grada- 
tions of his ascending scale grow wider apart. 

He now, for the first time, casts a look beneath him. Had 
that glance lasted a moment, that moment would have been 
his last. He clings with a convulsive shudder to his little 
niche in the rock. He is faint with severe exertion, and 



258 EUHU BURRITT 

trembling from the sudden view of the dreadful destruction 
to which he is exposed. What a moment ! What a meager 
chance to escape destruction! There is no retracing his 
steps. It is impossible to put his hand into the same niche 
with his feet, and retain his slender hold a moment. 

His companions instantly perceive this new and fearful 
dilemma, and await his fall with emotions that ' ' freeze their 
young blood." He is too high, too faint, to ask for his 
father and mother, and brothers and sisters. But one of his 
companions anticipates his desire. Swift as the wind, he 
bounds down the channel, and the situation of the ill-fated 
boy is told upon his father's hearth-stone. 

Minutes of almost eternal length roll on. The poor boy 
hears the hum of new and numerous voices both above and 
below. He can distinguish the tones of his father, who is 
shouting, with all the energy of despair, " William! William! 
don't look down! Your mother, and Henry, and Harriet, 
are all here, praying for you. Don't look down! Keep 
your eyes towards the top ! ' ' 

The boy didn't look down. His eye is fixed like a flint 
towards heaven, and his young heart on Him who reigns 
there. He grasps again his knife. He cuts another niche, 
and another foot is added to the hundreds that remove him 
from the reach of human help from below. How carefully 
he uses his wasting blade! How anxiously he selects the 
softest places in that vast pier! How he economizes his 
physical powers, resting a moment at each gain he cuts! 
How every motion is watched from below! 

The sun is half way down the west. The lad has made 
fifty additional niches in that mighty wall, and now finds 
himself directly under the middle of that vast arch of rocks, 
earth, and trees. 

Fifty more gains must be cut before the longest rope can 
reach him. His wasting blade strikes again into the lime- 
stone. The boy is emerging painfully, foot by foot, from 
under that lofty arch. Spliced ropes are ready in the hands 



ONE NICHE THE HIGHEST 2 59 

of those who are leaning over the outer edge of the bridge. 
Two minutes more and all must be over. The blade is worn 
to the last half inch. The boy's head reels; his eyes are 
starting from their sockets. His last hope is dying in his 
heart; his life must hang on the next gain he cuts. That 
niche is his last. 

At the last faint gash he makes, his knife — his faithful 
knife — falls from his little nerveless hand, and ringing along 
the precipice, falls at his mother's feet. An involuntary 
groan of despair runs like a death-knell through the channel 
below, and all is still as the grave. At the height of nearly 
three hundred feet, the devoted boy lifts his hopeless heart, 
and closes his eyes to commend his soul to God. 

'Tis but a moment — there! one foot swings off — he is 
reeling — trembling — toppling over into eternity! Hark! a 
shout falls on his ear from above! The man who is lying 
with half his length over the bridge has caught a glimpse 
of the boy's head and shoulders. Quick as thought the 
noosed rope is within reach of the sinking youth. No one 
breathes. With a faint convulsive effort, the swooning boy 
drops his arms into the noose. Darkness comes over him, 
and with the words " God ! — Mother ! " on his lips, the 
tightening rope lifts him out of his last shallow niche. Not 
a lip moves while he is dangling over that fearful abyss; but 
when a sturdy Virginian reaches down and draws up the lad, 
and holds him up in his arms before the tearful, breathless 
multitude, such shouting — such leaping and weeping for joy 
— never greeted the ear of a human being so recovered from 
the yawning gulf of eternity. 



260 WILLIAM McKlNLEY 



GRANT 



By William McKinley, Lawyer, Statesman; Member of Congress, 
1876-90; Governor of Ohio, 1 891-95; President of the United States, 
1897 — . Born in Niles, Ohio, 1843. 

From a speech made at Galena, 111., April 27, 1893. Reprinted, by permission of the 
publishers, from " McKinley's Masterpieces," published by L. C. Page & Co., Boston. 

With no disparagement to others, two names rise above 
all the rest in American history since George Washington — 
transcendently above them. They are Abraham Lincoln and 
Ulysses S. Grant. Each will be remembered for what he did 
and accomplished for his race and for mankind. Lincoln 
proclaimed liberty to four million slaves, and upon his act 
invited "the considerate judgment of mankind and the 
gracious favor of Almighty God." He has received the 
warm approval of the one, and I am sure he is enjoying the 
generous benediction of the other. His was the greatest, 
mightiest stroke of the war. Grand on its humanity side, 
masterly in its military aspect, it has given to his name an 
imperishable place among men. Grant gave irresistible 
power and efficacy to the Proclamation of Liberty. The iron 
shackles which Lincoln declared should be loosed from the 
limbs and souls of the black slaves, Grant with his matchless 
army melted and destroyed in the burning glories of the war; 
and the rebels read the inspired decree in the flashing guns 
of his artillery, and they knew what Lincoln had decreed 
Grant would execute. 

Only a few years ago, in one of his journeys through the 
South, when he was receiving a great ovation, some colored 
men crowded his hotel to look into the face and to grasp the 
hand of their great deliverer. To this intrusion objection 
was made, and the colored men were about to be ejected, 
when the General appeared, and in his quiet way, full of 
earnest feeling, said: " Where I am they shall come also." 
He believed in the brotherhood of man, in the political 



GRANT 261 

equality of all men; he had secured that with his sword, and 
was prompt to recognize it in all places and everywhere. 

But, my friends, Death had marked him for a victim. 
He fought Death with his iron will and his old-time courage, 
but at last yielded, the first and only time the great soldier 
was ever vanquished. He had routed every other foe, he had 
triumphed over every other enemy, but this last one con- 
quered him, as in the end he conquers all. He was not an 
old man when he died; but, after all, what a completed life 
was his! 

Mightier events and mightier achievements were never 
crowded into a single life before, and he lived to place them 
in enduring form, to be read by the millions living and the 
millions yet unborn. Then laying down his pen, he bowed 
resignedly before the Angel of Death, saying: " If it is God's 
providence that I shall go now, I am ready to obey His will 
without a murmur." — Great in life, majestic in death! He 
needs no monument to perpetuate his fame; it will live and 
glow with increased luster so long as liberty lasts and the 
love of liberty has a place in the hearts of men. Every 
soldiers' monumenfthroughout the North, now standing or 
hereafter to be erected, will record his worth and work as 
well as those of the brave men who fought by his side. His 
most lasting memorial will be the work he did, his most en- 
during monument the Union which he and his heroic 
associates saved, and the priceless liberty they secured. 

Surrounded by a devoted family, with a mind serene and 
a heart resigned, he passed over to join his fallen comrades 
beyond the river, on another field of glory. Above him in 
his chamber of sickness and death hung the portraits of 
Washington and Lincoln, whose disembodied spirits in the 
Eternal City were watching and waiting for him who was to 
complete the immortal trio of America's first and best loved; 
and as the earthly scenes receded from his view, and the 
celestial appeared, I can imagine those were the first to greet 
his sight and bid him welcome. ... . ... 



262 EMMA HUNTINGTON NASON 

We are not a nation of hero-worshipers. We are a nation 
of generous freemen. We bow in affectionate reverence and 
with most grateful hearts to these immortal names, Washing- 
ton, Lincoln, and Grant, and will guard with sleepless 
vigilance their mighty work and cherish their memories ever- 
more. 

UNTER DEN LINDEN 

June 16, 1871 

By Emma Huntington Nason, Poet. Born m Hallowell, Me., 1845. 

From " The Tower with Legends and Lyrics," published, in 1895, by Houghton, 
Mifflin & Co., Boston and New York. By permission of the author. 

I. 

' ' Victory ! ' ' This was the first that she read : 
And then, " Heart's dearest/' the soldier had said, 
Tracing the lines in a faltering way, 
" Heart's dearest, the hospital surgeons say 
That I shall be out of their hands to-day. 
'Twas an ugly wound, but the danger is past; 
I am coming to you, at last — at last ! 
Unter den Linden! Yes, we shall be there! 
Come with a rose in your dark shining hair — 
Not the white blossoms you once used to wear. 
White roses are meet for those who are slain ; 
The rich wine-red, for the welcome, remain, 
Red as our life-blood, and sweet as the air 
That floated from Eden, sweet and as rare; 
Greet me with a wine-red rose in your hair! 
Germania triumphs! Come with a song; 
And can you, dear heart, be patient and strong ? 
For slow is the crutch and ghastly the sling, 
And gone is the hand that once wore the ring — 
Your ring, the one pledge I promised to bring! 
I yield them ungrudged, with life, should need be, 
But hold fast my troth to country and thee." 



THE SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES OF OUR COUNTRY. 263 

II. 

In through the Brandenburg gateway they come, 

With clashing of arms and clangor of drum! 

Unter den Linden ! How proudly thy shade 

Quivers and thrills with the wild cannonade, 

As wild as the battle's carnival made! 

Borne on its passion we catch up the song; 

Thrilling and swelling, it thunders along; 

Hear it, ye nations afar o'er the sea! 

' ' Germania triumphs ! Germania free — 

Free and united through glad victory! " 

Heroes of Saarbriick and Metz and Sedan 

Tell how the torrent of victory ran! 

Fair hands of women shall bring from afar 

Hundreds of flowers for each bloody scar — 

Scars that far dearer than rare jewels are. 

' ' The Emperor comes ! ' ' for his guardsmen make way ! — 

" A woman, struck faint, has fallen," ye say ? 

And the troops, in their jubilant grand review, 

March on through the linden-grown avenue; 

But she in her death-swoon still lieth there, 

A woman stone-white, yet passingly fair, 

With the bloom of a wine-red rose in her hair. 

Ah! what did ye hear the guardsman had said ? 

" Only a man, in the hospital, dead! " 

THE SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES OF OUR COUNTRY 

By Charles William Eliot, Educator; President of Harvard Univer- 
sity, 1869. Born in Boston, Mass., 1834. 
Delivered at the Washington Centennial in New York York City, April 30, 1889. 

That brief phrase — the schools and colleges of the United 
States — is a formal and familiar one; but what imagination 
can grasp the infinitude of human affections, powers, and 
wills which it really comprises ? Imagine the eight million 



264 CHARLES WILLIAM ELIOT 

children actually in attendance at the elementary schools of 
the country brought before your view. They would fill this 
great house sixteen hundred times, and every time it would 
be packed with boundless loves and hopes. Each unit in 
that mass speaks of a glad birth, a brightened home, a 
mother's pondering heart, a father's careful joy. In all that 
multitude every little heart bounds and every eye shines at 
the name of Washington. 

Next picture to yourselves the sixty thousand students in 
colleges and universities — selected youth of keen intelligence, 
wide reading, and high ambition. They are able to compare 
Washington with the greatest men of other times and coun- 
tries, and to appreciate the unique quality of his renown. 
They can set him beside the heroes of romance and history 
— beside David, Alexander, Pericles, Caesar, Charlemagne, 
John Hampden, William the Silent, Peter of Russia, and 
Frederick the Great, only to find him a nobler human type 
than any one of them, completer in his nature, happier in 
his cause, and more fortunate in the great issues of his 
career. They recognize in him a simple, stainless, and 
robust character, which served with dazzling success the 
precious cause of human progress through liberty, and so 
stands, like the sunlit peak of the Matterhorn, unmatched 
in all the world. 

And what shall I say on behalf of the three hundred and 
sixty thousand teachers of the United States ? They deserve 
some mention to-day. None of them are rich or famous; 
most of them are poor, retiring, and unnoticed; but it is 
they who are building a perennial monument to Washington. 
It is they who give him a million-tongued fame. They make 
him live again in the young hearts of successive generations, 
and fix his image there as the American ideal of a public 
servant. 

It is through the schools and colleges and the national 
literature that the heroes of any people win lasting renown; 
and it is through these same agencies that a nation is molded 



AGAINST FLOGGING IN THE NAVY 265 

into the likeness of its heroes. This local commemoration 
of one great event in the life of Washington and of the 
United States is well ; but it is as nothing compared with the 
incessant memorial of him which the schools and colleges 
of the country maintain from generation to generation. 

What a reward is Washington's ! What an influence is his, 
and will be! One mind and will transfused by sympathetic 
instruction into millions, one character a standard for 
millions, one life a pattern for all public men, teaching what 
greatness is, and what the pathway to undying fame. 



AGAINST FLOGGING IN THE NAVY 

By Robert Field Stockton, Commodore in the United States Navy; 
United States Senator from New Jersey, 1851-53. Born at Princeton, 
N. J., 1795; died at Princeton, 1866. 

Taken from a speech delivered in the Senate, January 7, 1852 ; the Senate having un- 
der consideration a memorial from citizens of the United States praying that the practice 
of flogging in the U. S. Navy should not be abolished. See Congressional Globe, 
Jan. 7, 1852. 

There is one broad proposition upon which I stand. It 
is this: That an American sailor is an American citizen, and 
that no American citizen shall, with my consent, be sub- 
jected to the infamous punishment of the lash. If, when a 
citizen enters the service of his country, he is to forego the 
protection of those laws for the preservation of which he is 
willing to risk his life, he is entitled, in all justice, humanity, 
and gratitude, to all the protection that can be extended to 
him, in his peculiar circumstances. He ought, certainly, to 
be protected from the infliction of a punishment which stands 
condemned by the almost universal sentiment of his fellow 
citizens; a punishment which is proscribed in the best 
prison-government, proscribed in the schoolhouse, and 
proscribed in the best government on earth — that of parental 
domestic affection. Yes, sir, expelled from the social circle, 
from the schoolhouse, the prison-house, and the Army, it 
finds defenders and champions nowhere but in the Navy! 



266 ROBERT FIELD STOCKTON 

Look to your history, — that part of it which the world 
knows by heart, — and you will find on its brightest page the 
glorious achievements of the American sailor. Whatever his 
country has done to disgrace him and break his spirit, he 
has never disgraced her; he has always been ready to serve 
her; he always has served her faithfully and effectually. He 
has often been weighed in the balance, and never found 
wanting. The only fault ever found with him is that he 
sometimes fights ahead of his orders. The world has no 
match for him, man for man; and he asks no odds, and he 
cares for no odds, when the cause of humanity, or the glory 
of his country, calls him to fight. Who, in the darkest days 
of our Revolution, carried your flag into the very chops of 
the British Channel, bearded the lion in his den, and woke 
the echoes of old Albion's hills by the thunders of his 
cannon and the shouts of his triumph ? It was the American 
sailor. And the names of John Paul Jones, and the Bon 
Homme Richard, will go down the annals of time forever. 
Who struck the first blow that humbled the Barbary flag, — 
which, for a hundred years, had been the terror of Christen- 
dom, — drove it from the Mediterranean, and put an end to 
the infamous tribute it had been accustomed to extort ? It 
was the American sailor. And the name of Decatur and his 
gallant companions will be as lasting as monumental brass. 
In your War of 1812, when your arms on shore were covered 
by disaster, — when Winchester had been defeated, when the 
Army of the Northwest had surrendered, and when the gloom 
of despondency hung like a cloud over the land, — who first 
relit the fires of national glory, and made the welkin ring 
with the shouts of victory ? It was the American sailor. 
And the names of Hull and the Constitution will be remem- 
bered, as long as we have left anything worth remembering. 
That was no small event. The wand of Mexican prowess 
was broken on the Rio Grande. The wand of British 
invincibility was broken when the flag of the Guerriere came 
down. That one event was worth more to the Republic 



CLAUDIUS AND CYNTHIA 267 

than all the money which has ever been expended for the 
Navy. Since that day, the Navy has had no stain upon its 
escutcheon, but has been cherished as your pride and glory. 
And the American sailor has established a reputation through- 
out the world, — in peace and in war, in storm and in battle, 
— for heroism and prowess unsurpassed. He shrinks from 
no danger, he dreads no foe, and yields to no superior. No 
shoals are too dangerous, no seas too boisterous, no climate 
too rigorous for him. The burning sun of the tropics can- 
not make him effeminate, nor can the eternal winter of the 
polar seas paralyze his energies. Foster, cherish, develop 
these characteristics by a generous and paternal government. 
Excite his emulation and stimulate his ambition by 
rewards. But, above all, save him, save him from the 
brutalizing lash, and inspire him with love and confidence 
for your service — and then there is no achievement so 
arduous, no conflict so desperate, in which his actions will 
not shed glory upon his country. And when the final 
struggle comes, as soon it will come, for the empire of the 
seas, you may rest with entire confidence in the persuasion 
that victory will be yours. 



CLAUDIUS AND CYNTHIA 

(Abridged) 

By Maurice Thompson, Civil Engineer, Lawyer, Essayist, Novelist, 
Poet. Born in Fairfield, Ind., 1844. 

Taken from Scridner's Monthly for February, 1879. It is interesting to note in con- 
nection with this selection that Mr. Thompson is a skillful archer. The title of one of 
his books is " The Witchery of Archery." 

It was in the mid-splendor of the reign of the Emperor 
Commodus. Especially desirous of being accounted the best 
swordsman and the most fearless gladiator of Rome, he still 
better enjoyed the reputation of being the incomparable 
archer. This being true, it can well be understood how 
Claudius, by publicly boasting that he was a better archer 



268 MAURICE THOMPSON 

than Commodus, had brought upon himself the calamity of 
a public execution. 

But not even Nero would have thought of bringing the 
girl to her death for the fault of the lover. 

Claudius and his young bride had been arrested together 
at their wedding-feast, and dragged to separate dungeons to 
await the Emperor's will. The rumor was abroad that a 
most startling scene would be enacted in the circus. The 
result was that all the seats were filled with people eager to 
witness some harrowing scene of death. 

Commodus himself, surrounded by a great number of 
favorites, sat on a richly cushioned throne about midway one 
side of the inclosure. All was still, as if the multitude were 
breathless with expectancy. Presently out from one of the 
openings Claudius and his young bride — their hands bound 
behind them — were led forth upon the arena and forced to 
walk around the entire circumference of the place. 

At length the giant circuit was completed, and the two 
were left standing on the sand about one hundred and twenty 
feet from the Emperor, who now arose and in a loud voice 
said: 

" Behold the condemned Claudius, and Cynthia whom he 
lately took for his wife. They are condemned for the great 
folly of Claudius, that the Roman people may know that 
Commodus reigns supreme. The crime for which they are 
to die is a great one. Claudius has publicly proclaimed that 
he is a better archer than I, Commodus, am. I am the 
Emperor and the incomparable archer of Rome: whoever 
disputes it dies, and his wife dies with him. It is decreed." 

The youth, erect and powerful, set his thin lips firmly and 
kept his eyes looking straight out before him. Many knew 
him as a trained athlete and especially as an almost unerring 
archer; they knew him, too, as a brave soldier, a true friend, 
an honorable citizen. Little time remained for such reflec- 
tions as might have arisen, for immediately a large cage, 
containing two fiery-eyed and famished tigers, was brought 



CLAUDIUS AND CYNTHIA 269 

into the circus and placed before the victims. The hungry 
beasts were excited to madness by the smell of fresh blood, 
which had been smeared on the bars of the cage for that 
purpose. They growled and howled, lapping their fiery 
tongues and plunging against the door. 

Look for a brief moment upon the picture : fifty thousand 
faces thrust forward gazing; the helpless couple lost to 
everything but the black horrors of death, quivering from 
head to foot. Note the spotless beauty and unselfish love 
of the girl. Mark well the stern power of the young man's 
face. And now, O, now look at the bounding tigers ! See 
how one leads the other in the awful race to the feast. The 
girl is nearer than the man. She will feel the claws and 
fangs first. How wide those red, frothing mouths gape! 
How the red tongues loll ! The sand flies up in a cloud 
from the armed feet of the leaping brutes. 

There came from the place where Commodus stood a clear 
musical note, such as might have come from the gravest cord 
of a lyre, if powerfully stricken, closely followed by a keen 
far-reaching hiss, like the whisper of fate, ending in a heavy 
blow. The multitude caught breath and stared. 

The foremost tiger, while yet in mid-air, curled itself up 
with a gurgling cry of utter pain, and with blood gushing 
from its eyes, ears, and mouth, fell heavily down dying. 
Again the sweet, insinuating twang, the hiss, the stroke. 

The second beast fell dead or dying upon the first. This 
explained all. The Emperor had demonstrated his right to 
be called the Royal Bowman of the World. 

Had the tyrant been content to rest here, all would have 
been well. 

While yet the beasts were struggling with death he gave 
orders for a shifting of the scenes. He was insatiable. 

For the first time during the ordeal the youth's eyes 
moved. The girl, whose back was turned toward the beasts, 
was still waiting for the crushing horror of their assault. 

A soldier now approached the twain, and, seizing the arm 



270 MAURICE THOMPSON 

of each, led them some paces further away from the Emperor, 
where he stationed them facing each other, and with their 
sides to Commodus, who was preparing to shoot again. 

Before drawing his bow, he cried aloud, " Behold, Com- 
modus will pierce the centre of the ear of each! "' 

The lovers were gazing into each other's eyes still as 
statues, as if frozen by the cold fascination of death. Com- 
modus drew his bow with tremendous power, fetching the 
cord back to his breast, where for a moment it was held 
without the faintest quiver of a muscle. His eyes were fixed 
and cold as steel. 

The arrow fairly shrieked through the air, so swift was its 
flight. 

The girl, filled with ineffable pain, flung up her white 
arms, the rent thongs flying away in the paroxysms of her 
final struggle. The arrow struck in the sand beyond. 
Something like a divine smile flashed across her face. Again 
the bow-string rang, and the arrow leaped away to its thrill- 
ing work. What a surge the youth made! The cord 
leaped from his wrists, and he clasped the falling girl in his 
embrace. 

All eyes saw the arrow hurtling along the sand after its 
mission was done. Commodus stood like fate, leaning for- 
ward to note the perfectness of his execution. His eyes 
blazed with eager, heartless triumph. ' ' Lead them out, and 
set them free, and tell it everywhere that Commodus is the 
incomparable bowman." 

And then, when all at once it was discovered that he had 
not hurt the lovers, but had merely cut in two with his 
arrows the cords that bound their wrists, a great stir began, 
and out from a myriad overjoyed and admiring hearts leaped 
a storm of thanks, while, with the clash and bray of musical 
instruments, and with voices like the voices of winds and 
seas, and with a clapping of hands like the rending roar 
of tempests, the vast audience arose as one person, and 
applauded the Emperor. 



RECEIVING THE MASTER'S DEGREE FROM HARVARD 271 



ON RECEIVING THE MASTER'S DEGREE FROM 
HARVARD 

By Booker Taliaferro Washington, Educator; Principal of 
Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute. Born a slave near Hale's 
Ford, Va., in 1857 or 1858. 

A speech made at Harvard Commencement, June 24, 1896. See Harvard Gradu- 
ates' Magazine, September, 1896. 

It would in some measure relieve embarrassment if I could 
in even a slight degree feel myself worthy of the great honor 
which you do me to-day. Why you have called me from the 
Black Belt of the South, from among my humble people, to 
share in the honors of this occasion, is not for me to explain ; 
and yet it may not be inappropriate for me to suggest that 
it seems to me that one of the most vital questions that 
touch our American life is how to bring the strong, the 
wealthy, and the learned into helpful touch with the poorest, 
most ignorant, and humble, and at the same time make the 
one appreciate the vitalizing, strengthening influence of the 
other. How shall we make the dwellers in the mansions on 
yon Beacon Street feel and see the need of the spirits in the 
lowliest cabin in Alabama cotton-fields or Louisiana sugar- 
bottoms ? This problem Harvard University is solving, not 
by bringing itself down, but by bringing the masses up. 

If through me, a humble representative, seven millions 
of my people in the South might be permitted to send a 
message to Harvard, — Harvard, that offered up on death's 
altar Shaw and Russell and Lowell and scores of others that 
we might have a free and united country, — that message 
would be, "Tell them that the sacrifice was not in vain. 
Tell them, by the way of the shop, the field, the skilled 
hand, habits of thrift and economy, by the way of the indus- 
trial school and college, we are coming up. We are crawling 
up, working up, yea, bursting up, — often through oppres- 
sion, unjust discrimination, and prejudice; but through them 
all we are coming up, and, with proper habits, intelligence, 



272 BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON 

and property, there is no power on earth that can per- 
manently stay our progress. ' ' 

If my life in the past has meant anything in the lifting up 
of my people, and the bringing about of better relations 
between your race and mine, I assure you from this day it 
will mean doubly more. In the economy of God there is 
but one standard by which an individual can succeed, — there 
is but one for a race. This country demands that every race 
measure itself by the American standard. By it a race must 
rise or fall, succeed or fail, and in the last analysis mere 
sentiment counts for little. During the next half-century 
and more, my race must continue passing through the severe 
American crucible. We are to be tested in our patience, 
our forbearance, our perseverance, our power to endure 
wrong, to withstand temptations, to economize, to acquire 
and use skill; our ability to compete, to succeed in com- 
merce, to disregard the superficial for the real, the appearance 
for the substance; to be great and yet small, learned and yet 
simple, high and yet the servant of all. This, this is the 
passport to all that is best in the life of our Republic, and 
the negro must possess it or be debarred. 

While we are thus being tested, I beg of you to remember 
that wherever our life touches yours we help or we hinder. 
Wherever your life touches ours you make us stronger or 
weaker. No member of your race in any part of our country 
can harm the meanest member of mine without the proudest 
and bluest blood in Massachusetts being degraded. When 
Mississippi commits crime, New England commits crime, 
and in so much lowers the standard of your civilization. 
There is no escape, — man drags man down, or man lifts man 
up. In working out our destiny, while the main burden and 
center of activity must be with us, we shall need, in a large 
measure, in the years that are to come, as we have had in 
the past, the help, the encouragement, the guidance that the 
strong can give the weak. Thus helped, we of both races 
in the South shall soon throw off the shackles of racial and 



THE SOLDIER BOY 273 

sectional prejudice and rise, as Harvard University has risen 
and as we all should rise, above the clouds of ignorance, nar- 
rowness, and selfishness into that atmosphere, that pure sun- 
shine, where it will be our highest ambition to serve man, 
our brother, regardless of race or past condition. 



THE SOLDIER BOY 

By John Davis Long, Lawyer, Author; Governor of Massachusetts, 
1882-88; Secretary of the Navy, 1897 — . Born in Buckfield, Maine, 
1838. 

From an oration delivered before the Grand Army Posts of Suffolk County, Boston, 
May 30, 1882. 

Reprinted, by permission of the author, from " After Dinner and Other Speeches," 
published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, copyright, 1895, by John D. Long. 

Memorial Day will hereafter gather around it not only the 
love and tears and pride of the generations of the people, but 
more and more, in its inner circle of tenderness, the linking 
memories of every comrade, so long as one survives. As the 
dawn ushers it in, tinged already with exquisite flush of 
hastening June, and sweet with the bursting fragrance of her 
roses, the wheels of time will each year roll back, and lo! 
John Andrew is at the State-house, inspiring Massachusetts 
with the throbbing of his own great heart ; Abraham Lincoln, 
wise and patient and honest and tender and true, is at the 
nation's helm; the North is one broad blaze; the boys in 
blue are marching to the front; the fife and drum are on 
every breeze; the very air is patriotism; Phil Sheridan, forty 
miles away, dashes back to turn defeat to victory; Farragut, 
lashed to the mast-head, is steaming into Mobile Harbor; 
Hooker is above the clouds, — ay, now indeed forever above 
the clouds; Sherman marches through Georgia to the sea; 
Grant has throttled Lee with the grip that never lets go; 
Richmond falls; the armies of the Republic pass in that last 
great review at Washington; Custer's plume is there, but 
Kearney's saddle is empty; and, now again, our veterans 
come marching home to receive the welcome of a grateful 



274 JOHN DAVIS LONG / 

people, and to stack in Doric Hall the tattered flags which 
Massachusetts forever hence shall wear above her heart. 

In memory of the dead, in honor of the living, for inspira- 
tion to our children, we gather to-day to deck the graves of 
our patriots with flowers, to pledge commonwealth and town 
and citizen to fresh recognition of the surviving soldier, and 
to picture yet again the romance, the reality, the glory, the 
sacrifice of his service. As if it were but yesterday you recall 
him. He had but turned twenty. The exquisite tint of 
youthful health was on his cheek. His pure heart shone 
from frank, outspeaking eyes. His fair hair clustered from 
beneath his cap. He had pulled a stout oar in the college 
race, or walked the most graceful athlete on the village 
green. He had just entered on the vocation of his life. 
The doorway of his home at this season of the year was bril- 
liant in the dewy morn with the clambering vine and fragrant 
flower, as in and out he went, the beloved of mothers and 
sisters, and the ideal of a New England youth. ... 

And when the drum beat, when the first martyr's blood 
sprinkled the stones of Baltimore, he took his place in the 
ranks and went forward. You remember his ingenuous and 
glowing letters to his mother, written as if his pen were 
dipped in his very heart. How novel seemed to him the 
routine of service, the life of camp and march ! How eager 
the wish to meet the enemy and strike his first blow for the 
good cause ! What pride at the promotion that came and put 
its chevron on his arm or its strap upon his shoulder! . . . 

They took him prisoner. He wasted in Libby and grew 
gaunt and haggard with the horror of his sufferings and with 
pity for the greater horror of the sufferings of his comrades 
who fainted and died at his side. . . . He tunneled the earth 
and escaped. Hungry and weak, in terror of recapture, he 
followed by night the pathway of the railroad. He slept in 
thickets and sank in swamps. He saw the glitter of horse- 
men who pursued him. He knew the bloodhound was on 
his track. He reached the line; and, with his hand grasping 



THE UNKNOIVN SPEAKER 2 75 

at freedom, they caught and took him back to captivity. 
He was exchanged at last; and you remember, when he 
came home on a short furlough, how manly and war-worn 
he had grown. But he soon returned to the ranks and to 
the welcome of his comrades. They recall him now alike 
with tears and pride. In the rifle-pits around Petersburg 
you heard his steady voice and firm command. Some one 
who saw him then fancied that he seemed that day like one 
who forefelt the end. But there was no flinching as he 
charged. He had just turned to give a cheer when the fatal 
ball struck him. There was a convulsion of the upward 
hand. His eyes, pleading and loyal, turned their last glance 
to the flag. His lips parted. He fell dead, and at nightfall 
lay with his face to the stars. Home they brought him, 
fairer than Adonis over whom the goddess of beauty wept. 
They buried him in the village churchyard under the green 
turf. Year by year his comrades and his kin, nearer than 
comrades, scatter his grave with flowers. Do you ask who 
he was ? He was in every regiment and every company. 
He went out from every Massachusetts village. He sleeps 
in every Massachusetts burying-ground. Recall romance, 
recite the names of heroes of legend and song, but there is 
none that is his peer. 



THE UNKNOWN SPEAKER 

By George Lippard, Author. Born near Yellow Springs, Penn., 1822; 
died in Philadelphia, 1854. 

It is the Fourth day of July, 1776. In the old State- 
house in the city of Philadelphia are gathered half a hundred 
men to strike from their limbs the shackles of British 
despotism. There is silence in the hall — every face is turned 
toward the door where the committee of three, who have 
been out all night penning a parchment, are soon to enter. 
The door opens, the committee appear. 



276 GEORGE LIPPARD 

The three advance to the table. 

The parchment is laid there. 

Shall it be signed or not ? A fierce debate ensues. But 
still there is doubt, and one pale-faced man whispers some- 
thing about axes, scaffolds, and a gibbet. 

" Gibbet ? " echoes a fierce, bold voice through the hall, 
" Gibbet ? They may stretch our necks on all the gibbets 
in the land; they may turn every rock into a scaffold; every 
tree into a gallows; every home into a grave, and yet the 
words of that parchment there can never die! They may 
pour our blood on a thousand scaffolds, and yet from every 
drop that dyes the axe a new champion of freedom will 
spring into birth. The British king may blot out the stars 
of God from the sky, but he cannot blot out His words 
written on that parchment there. The works of God may 
perish; His words, never! 

11 The words of this declaration will live in the world long 
after our bones are dust. To the mechanic in his workshop 
they will speak hope; to the slave in the mines, freedom; 
but to the coward-kings these words will speak in tones of 
warning they cannot choose but hear. 

" They will be terrible as the flaming syllables on Bel- 
shazzar's wall! They will speak in language startling as 
the trump of the Archangel, saying : ' You have trampled on 
mankind long enough ! At last the voice of human woe has 
pierced the ear of God, and called His judgment down! 
You have waded to thrones through rivers of blood; you 
have trampled on the necks of millions of fellow beings. 
Now kings, now purple hangmen, for you come the days of 
axes and gibbets and scaffolds. ' 

4 ' Sign that parchment ! Sign, if the next moment the 
gibbet's rope is about your neck! Sign, if the next minute 
this hall rings with the clash of the falling axes! Sign by 
all your hopes in life or death as men, as husbands, as 
fathers, brothers; sign your names to the parchment, or be 
accursed forever! 



THE UNKNOWN SPEAKER 277 

11 Sign, and not only for yourselves, but for all ages, for 
that parchment will be the text-book of freedom — the Bible 
of the rights of men forever. Nay, do not start and whisper 
with surprise! It is truth, your own hearts witness it; God 
proclaims it. Look at this strange history of a band of exiles 
and outcasts suddenly transformed into a people — a handful 
of men weak in arms — but mighty in God-like faith ; nay, 
look at your recent achievements, your Bunker Hill, your 
Lexington, and then tell me if you can that God has not 
given America to be free ! 

" As I live, my friends, I believe that to be His purpose! 
Yes, were my soul trembling on the verge of eternity, were 
this hand freezing in death, were this voice choking in the 
last struggle, I would still with the last impulse of that soul, 
with the last wave of that hand, with the last gasp of that 
voice, implore you to remember this truth — God has given 
America to be free ! Yes, as I sank into the gloomy shadows 
of the grave, with my last faint whisper I would beg you to 
sign that parchment for the sake of the millions whose very 
breath is now hushed in intense expectation as they look up 
to you for the awful words ' You are free! ' " 

The unknown speaker fell exhausted in his seat; but the 
work was done. 

A wild murmur runs through the hall. " Sign! " There 
is no doubt now. Look how they rush forward! Stout- 
hearted John Hancock has scarcely time to sign his bold 
name before the pen is grasped by another — another and 
another. Look how the names blaze on the parchment! 
Adams and Lee, Jefferson and Carroll, Franklin and Sher- 
man! 

And now the parchment is signed. 

Now, old man in the steeple, now bare your arm and let 
the bell speak! Hark to the music of that bell! Is there 
not a poetry in that sound, a poetry more sublime than that 
of Shakespeare and Milton ? Is there not a music in that 
sound that reminds you of those sublime tones which broke 



27S FREDERIC RENE COUDERT 

from angel lips when the news of the child Jesus burst on the 
hill-tops of Bethlehem ? For the tones of that bell now come 
pealing, pealing, pealing, " Independence now and Inde- 
pendence forever. ' - 



THE CITY OF NEW YORK 

By Frederic Rene Coudert, Lawyer. Born in New York, N. Y., 

1832. 

From a speech made at the annual banquet of the New England Society in New 
York City, December 22, 1884. 

I am aware that other cities have claimed the precedence 
if not the monopoly of early patriotism and of early self- 
denial in the good cause. New York City is so rich in 
present goods and past glories that she has, perhaps with 
excessive indulgence, looked smilingly upon the earnest 
advocates of these untenable claims. But historic truth 
cannot afford to be thus blinded. She will tell you that this 
island city was the first to throw down the gauntlet to royal 
armies and to royal fleets. Rhode Island and Maryland, 
especially the latter, may have worn before her the crown of 
religious toleration; but even in the early days, when 
religious freedom was almost unknown to the best and wisest 
men, this soil upon which we stand to-night was open to the 
persecuted of all climates. I shall not speak of the sectaries 
of Massachusetts, driven from their homes by persecution 
which it is not pleasant to think of now; but Jews and 
Dissenters the world over, fleeing from the cruelties which 
they endured for conscience' sake, found here a home and 
safety. . . . 

Pray tell me in what particular our city has not been the 
first to sound the clarion of rebellion against tyranny; to 
speak in loud tones for civil liberty and political independ- 
ence ? More than two hundred years ago the merchants of 
New York declared that they must have a voice and a vote 
in the administration of public business; and they meant it, 



THE CITY OF NEIV YORK 279 

and showed their good faith by stubborn resistance until 
final success. Who maintained the liberty of the press by 
first consecrating its importance through the verdict of a 
jury ? Who first opposed by arms the odious claim that 
citizens could be impressed by force into the military and 
naval service ? W T ho led the battle against the Stamp Act, 
and declared it to be the duty of the colonies to consider as 
an act of tyranny any violation of her rights and privileges ? 
New York, ever New York! To sum all up, who first shed 
the blood of her citizens in defense of America, if not New 
York ? 

But the glory of New York in the past was but the promise 
of the fruit that was to ripen in the future. She stands 
to-day firm in the enjoyment of those great truthsand bless- 
ings which cost so much blood and treasure to secure. All 
the noble tendencies of her origin have been developed. 
No city exceeds her in wealth, education, intelligence, and 
prosperity. None approaches her in that which best proves 
her excellence — I mean her charity. To enumerate the 
manifold channels in which that ever-flowing charity pursues 
its daily course would far exceed my limits. It covers every 
form of human suffering. It embraces every nationality and 
creed — it knows no limitation. The great heart of our city 
has a throb of pity for every form of wretchedness. Nay, 
going beyond this sympathy with human misfortune, one of 
our citizens was the first to discover that the dumb beast 
appealed to the humanity of man, and that his duty was not 
complete until he heeded that appeal. The helpless child 
who was elsewhere left to the cruel mercies of the law or to 
the isolated exercise of religious or individual bounty, became 
the object of new and enlightened solicitude. Our thrifty 
citizens, quite ready to scrutinize with jealous care the 
expenditure of their money in taxation, have ever grumbled 
and still grumble with Anglo-Saxon heartiness at all tributes 
that are unreasonable and extravagant. But where the 
education of our people is concerned their voice is silent, 



280 WILL CARLETON 

except to urge renewed and increased expenditure. The 
descendants of the men who shed blood to resist a petty 
exaction because it was against their rights, spend four 
millions and more every year that all may be bountifully 
supplied with intellectual food. Her rapidly increasing 
wealth is surpassed by the rapidly accumulating monuments 
of her generosity. Libraries, hospitals, drinking-fountains, 
art associations, relieve, enlighten, encourage, and delight 
those on whom fortune has never smiled. Freely has she 
received and freely does she give, remembering that of all 
virtues charity is the greatest. That there are no dark spots 
in the picture, who will pretend ? But we all know and feel 
that we may build much hope for the future on the glories 
of the past and the greatness of the present. No hand is 
strong enough to destroy our city, except that of her own 
children. 



THE FIRST SETTLER'S STORY 

By Will Carleton, Lecturer, Journalist, Author, Poet. Born in 
Hudson, Mich., 1845; living in Brooklyn, N. Y. 

From " Farm Festivals," by Will Carleton. Copyright, 1881, 1898, by Harper & 
Brothers, New York. 

Well, when I first infested this retreat, 
Things to my v'.ew look'd frightful incomplete; 
But I had come with heart -thrift in my song, 
And brought my wife and plunder right along; 
I hadn't a round-trip ticket to go back, 
And if I had there was no railroad track ; 
And drivin' East was what I couldn't endure: 
I hadn't started on a circular tour. 

My girl-wife was as brave as she was good, 
And help'd me every blessed way she could; 
She seem'd to take to every rough old tree, 
As sing'lar as when first she took to me. 



THE FIRST SETTLER'S STORY 281 

She kep' our little log-house neat as wax, 
And once I caught her fooling with my axe. 
She hadn't the muscle (though she had the heart) 
In out-door work to take an active part; 
She was delicious, both to hear and see, — 
That pretty girl-wife that kep' house for me. 

Well, neighborhoods meant counties in those days; 
The roads didn't have accommodating ways; 
And maybe weeks would pass before she'd see — 
And much less talk with — any one but me. 
The Indians sometimes show'd their sun-baked faces. 
But they didn't teem with conversational graces; 
Some ideas from the birds and trees she stole, 
But 'twasn't like talking with a human soul; 
And finally I thought that I could trace 
A half heart-hunger peering from her face. 

One night, when I came home unusual late, 
Too hungry and too tired to feel first-rate, 
Her supper struck me wrong (though I'll allow 
She hadn't much to strike with, anyhow); 
And, when I went to milk the cows, and found 
They'd wandered from their usual feeding-ground, 
And maybe'd left a few long miles behind 'em, 
Which I must copy if I meant to find 'em, 
Flash-quick the stay-chains of my temper broke, 
And in a trice these hot words I had spoke: 
" You ought to've kept the animals in view, 
And drove them in; you'd nothing else to do. 
The heft of all our life on me must fall ; 
You just lie round, and let me do it all." 

That speech, — it hadn't been gone a half a minute 
Before I saw the cold black poison in it; 
And I'd have given all I had, and more, 
To've only safely got it back in-door. 



282 WILL CARLE TON 

I'm now what most folks " well-to-do " would call: 
I feel to-day as if I'd give it all, 
Provided I through fifty years might reach 
And kill and bury that half-minute speech. 

She handed back no words, as I could hear; 
She didn't frown; she didn't shed a tear; 
Half proud, half crush'd, she stood and look'd me o'e 
Like some one she had never seen before! 
But such a sudden anguish-lit surprise 
I never view'd before in human eyes. 
(I've seen it oft enough since in a dream; 
It sometimes wakes me like a midnight scream.) 

Next morning, when, stone-faced but heavy-hearted, 
With dinner-pail and sharpen 'd axe I started 
Away for my day's work, she watch 'd the door, 
And follow' d me half-way to it or more; 
And I was just a-turning round at this, 
And asking for my usual good-by kiss; 
But on her lip I saw a proudish curve, 
And in her eye a shadow of reserve; 
And she had shown — perhaps half unawares — 
Some little independent breakfast airs; 
And so the usual parting didn't occur, 
Although her eyes invited me to her; 
Or rather half invited me, for she 
Didn't advertise to furnish kisses free: 
You always had — that is, I had — to pay 
Full market price, and go more'n half the way; 
So, with a short " Good-by" I shut the door, 
And left her as I never had before. 
But when at noon my lunch I came to eat, 
Put up by her so delicately neat, — 
Choicer, somewhat, than yesterday's had been, 
And some fresh, sweet-eyed pansies she'd put in, — 



THE FIRST SETTLER'S STORY 283 

" Tender and pleasant thoughts," I knew they meant, — 
It seem'd as if with me her kiss she'd sent; 
Then I became once more her humble lover, 
And said, " To-night I'll ask forgiveness of her." 

I went home over-early on that eve, 
Having contrived to make myself believe, 
By various signs I kind o' knew and guess'd, 
A thunder-storm was coming from the west. 
('Tis strange, when one sly reason fills the heart, 
How many honest ones will take its part : 
A dozen first-class reasons said 'twas right 
That I should strike home early on that night.) 

Half out of breath, the cabin door I swung, 
With tender heart-words trembling on my tongue; 
But all within look'd desolate and bare: 
My house had lost its soul : she was not there! 
A pencil 'd note was on the table spread, 
And these are something like the words it said : 
" The cows have stray' d away again, I fear; 
I watch'd them pretty close; don't scold me, dear. 
And where they are I think I nearly know; 
I heard the bell not very long ago. 
I've hunted for them all the afternoon; 
I'll try once more, — I think I'll find them soon. 
Dear, if a burden I have been to you, 
And haven't help'd you as I ought to do, 
Let old-time memories my forgiveness plead ; 
I've tried to do my best, — I have, indeed. 
Darling, piece out with love the strength I lack, 
And have kind words for me when I get back. " 

Scarce did I give this letter sight and tongue, — 
Some swift-blown rain-drops to the window clung, 
And from the clouds a rough, deep growl proceeded : 
My thunder-storm had come, now 'twasn't needed, 



284 WILL CARLE TON 

I rush'd out-door. The air was stain'd with black: 

Night had come early, on the storm-cloud's back: 

And everything kept dimming to the sight, 

Save when the clouds threw their electric light; 

When, for a flash, so clean-cut was the view, 

I'd think I saw her, — knowing 'twas not true. 

Through my small clearing dash'd wide sheets of spray, 

As if the ocean waves had lost their way; 

Scarcely a pause the thunder-battle made, 

In the bold clamor of its cannonade. 

And she, while I was shelter' d, dry, and warm, 

Was somewhere in the clutches of this storm ! 

She who, when storm-frights found her at her best, 

Had always hid her white face on my breast ! 

My dog, who'd skirmish'd round me all the day, 
Now crouch 'd and whimpering, in a corner lay. 
I dragg'd him by the collar to the wall, 
I press' d his quivering muzzle to a shawl, — 
" Track her, old boy! " I shouted; and he whined, 
Match' d eyes with me, as if to read my mind, 
Then with a yell went tearing through the wood. 
I follow 'd him, as faithful as I could. 
No pleasure-trip was that, through flood and flame 
We raced with death; we hunted noble game. 
All night we dragg'd the woods without avail; 
The ground got drench 'd, — we could not keep the trail. 
Three times again my cabin home I found, 
Half hoping she might be there, safe and sound; 
But each time 'twas an unavailing care: 
My house had lost its soul: she was not there! 

When, climbing the wet trees, next morning-sun 
Laugh' d at the ruin that the night had done, 
Bleeding and drench'd, by toil and sorrow bent. 
Back to what used to be my home I went, 



THE FIRST SETTLER'S STORY 285 

But, as I near'cl our little clearing-ground, — • 

Listen! — I heard the cow-bell's tinkling sound. 

The cabin door was just a bit ajar; 

It gleam' d upon my glad eyes like a star. 

" Brave heart," I said, " for such a fragile form! 

She made them guide her homeward through the storm ! ' ' 

Such pangs of joy I never felt before. 

" You've come! " I shouted, and rush'd through the door. 

Yes, she had come, — and gone again. She lay 
With all her young life crush' d and wrench 'd away, — 
Lay, the heart-ruins of our home among, 
Not far from where I kill'd her with my tongue. 
The rain-drops glitter' d 'mid her hair's long strands, 
The forest thorns had torn her feet and hands, 
And 'midst the tears — brave tears — that one could trace 
Upon the pale but sweetly resolute face, 
I once again the mournful words could read, 
" I've tried to do my best, — I have, indeed." 

And now I'm mostly done; my story's o'er; 
Part of it never breathed the air before. 
'Tisn't over-usual, it must be allow'd, 
To volunteer heart-story to a crowd, 
And scatter 'mongst them confidential tears, 
But you'll protect an old man with his years; 
And wheresoe'er this story's voice can reach, 
This is the sermon I would have it preach : 

Boys flying kites haul in their white-wing' d birds: 
You can't do that way when you're flying words. 
' ' Careful with fire, ' ' is good advice we know ; 
" Careful with words," is ten times doubly so. 
Thoughts unexpress'd may sometimes fall back dead, 
But God Himself can't kill them when they're said! 



2%6 RICHARD SALTER STORRS 

You have my life-grief: do not think a minute 
'Twas told to take up time. There's business in it. 
It sheds advice: whoe'er will take and live it 
Is welcome to the pain it costs to give it. 



THE PURITAN SPIRIT 

By Richard Salter Storrs, Preacher, Author, Lecturer; Pastor 
Church of the Pilgrims, Brooklyn, 1846-99. Born at Braintree, 
Mass., 1821; died in Brooklyn, 1900. 

From an address before the Congregational Club, Boston, Mass., December 22, 1889. 
By permission of the publishers, The Pilgrim Press, Boston and Chicago. 

Not for the Puritan, in his reserved and haughty conscious- 
ness of supernal relations, is the dainty sumptuousness of 
color, the symmetric grace of molded marbles, the rhythmic 
reach and stately height of noble architecture, the pathos and 
the mystery of music. . . . 

He has not remembered that to some minds a relish for 
what is lovely in fancy and in art is as native as color to the 
violet, fragrance to the rose, or song to the bird; that God's 
own mind must eternally teem with beauty, since He lines 
with it the tiny sea-shell, and tints the fish, and tones the 
hidden fibers of trees, and flashes it on breast and crest of 
flying birds, and breaks the tumbling avalanche into myriads 
of feathery crystals, and builds the skies in a splendor, to a 
rhythm, which no thought can match. . . . 

It is obvious, too, that with this disesteem of things 
esthetic has been often associated a foolish contempt for the 
minor elegancies of life, of letters, of personal manners, and 
of social equipment, with sometimes a positively dangerous 
disdain of the common innocent pleasures of life. . . . 

But if such are its deficiencies, which we may not hide, 
let us not forget that it has also certain magnificent qualities 
and superlative traits, which surely we ought, as well, to 
recognize. ... It has, for one thing, a masterful sincerity. 
, , , Men may charge the Puritan with sternness, and with 



THE PURITAN SPIRIT 287 

being too little regardful of others; but he is not apt to be 
temporizing in policy, ambiguous or diplomatic in forms of 
expression. . . . 

It is certainly to be said, too, that if the Puritan spirit is 
not naturally strong on the side of moral tenderness, it has 
a superb and shining courage, as well as a capacity for 
tremendous enthusiasm, and for a self-devotion conspicuous 
and complete. It is not afraid of what man can do, so long 
as it feels that God and His righteousness are on its side. It 
has been frankly and gladly ready to face not only the fierce 
charge of cavaliers, but loneliness, exile, the sea, and the 
wilderness, the unknown perils of a soil and an air which 
civilization had not tried, the cruel craft of savage enemies. 
It has gone out from happy homes for this, and from lovely 
surroundings, and has not flinched before the hazard and 
life-long loss, any more than it had flinched before the 
frowning face of kings. . . . 

Men have made kings out of rubbish, and statesmen, 
so-called, out of pedants and rogues. They have tried, at 
any rate, to make scholars out of those too lazy to work, 
soldiers out of padded uniforms, philanthropists out of 
cranks. But it takes a strong man, and a sound one, to be 
developed into a Puritan. 

Samuel Adams was a Puritan, if ever there was one: son 
of a deacon in the old South Church; carefully trained in his 
father's ways; of whom Hutchinson said that, though he 
was poor, such was his inflexible disposition that no office 
could bribe him; whom Gage excepted by name from his 
offer of pardon to penitent rebels; who raised and ruled the 
eager democracy of the town and the State, and to whom 
Washington was no more than another, if he did not succeed. 

Colonel Abraham Davenport was a Puritan: who sat in 
the governor's council at Hartford on the extraordinary dark 
day, May 19, 1780, when chickens went to roost in the 
morning, and cattle came lowing from the fields, when a pall 
of darkness swept through the sky as if the sun had been 



288 RICHARD SALTER STORRS 

suddenly extinguished, and when the Day of Judgment was 
tremblingly thought to be at hand. The House of Repre- 
sentatives had already adjourned, and it was proposed to 
adjourn the council. " The Day of Judgment is at hand," 
said the Colonel, "or it is not. If not, there is no occasion 
for adjournment. If it is, I choose to be found doing my 
duty. Bring in the candles." . . . 

Wendell Phillips was a Puritan: supple as an athlete, 
graceful as Apollo, gentle as a woman among his friends, to 
whom eloquence was an idiom, and the delightful grace of 
conversation both an ornament and a weapon, but from the 
silver bow of whose musical lips flew fiery shafts against 
whatever appeared to him wrong, and whose white plume 
shone always in the dangerous van of the heady fight. . . . 

Here, then, is our duty plainly before us: not to eulogize 
this spirit, but to incorporate it, and make it a part of our 
personal life. . . . 

We want the same temper, amid the changed world in 
which our personal lot has been cast, which has been in those 
who have stood, in all their times, against corruption in 
Church or in State, with hearts that no more failed, and 
brows that no more blanched, than does the granite before 
the rush of the storm ; the same temper which was in our 
fathers two hundred and seventy years ago, when they left 
whatever was beautiful at home, in obedience to conscience, 
and faced, without flinching, the sea and the savage, when 
they sought not high things, and were joyfully ready to be 
stepping-stones for others, if they might advance the kingdom 
of God; but when they gave to this New England a life 
which has molded its rugged strength from that day to this, 
has made it a monument surpassing all others which man 
can build, and a perpetual living seminary of character and 
of power for all the land; — a life, please God! which shall 
never' be extinct, among the stronger souls of men, till the 
earth itself shall have vanished like a dream. 



THE SOUTH AND HER PROBLEMS 289 



THE SOUTH AND HER PROBLEMS 

By Henry Woodfen Grady, Journalist, Orator. Born at Athens, Ga. , 
1851; died at Atlanta, Ga., 1889. 

Taken from a speech made at the Texas State Fair, at Dallas, October 26, 1887. See 
" Henry W. Grady : His Life, Writings, and Speeches," published in 1890 by The 
Cassell Publishing Co., New York, N. Y. 

A soldier lay wounded on a hard-fought field, the roar of 
the battle had died away, and he rested in the deadly stillness 
of its aftermath. . . . Off over the field flickered the lanterns 
of the surgeons with the litter-bearers, searching that they 
might take away those whose lives could be saved and leave 
in sorrow those who were doomed to die. . . . This poor 
soldier watched, unable to turn or speak as the lanterns grew 
near. At last the light flashed in his face, and the surgeon, 
with kindly face, bent over him, hesitated a moment, shook 
his head, and was gone, leaving the poor fellow alone with 
death. He watched in patient agony as they went on from 
one part of the field to another. As they came back the 
surgeon bent over him again. " I believe if this poor fellow 
lives to sundown to-morrow, he will get well." . . . All 
night long these words fell into his heart as the dews fell from 
the stars upon his lips: " If he but lives till sundown, he will 
get well." He turned his weary head to the east and 
watched for the coming sun. . . . He watched it inch by 
inch as it climbed slowly up the heavens. He thought of 
life, its hopes and ambitions, its sweetness and its raptures, 
and he fortified his soul against despair until the sun had 
reached high noon. It sloped down its slow descent, and 
his life was ebbing away and his heart was faltering, and he 
needed stronger stimulants to make him stand the struggle 
until the end of the day had come. He thought of his 
far-off home, the blessed house resting in tranquil peace with 
the roses climbing to its door, and the trees whispering to its 
windows, and dozing in the sunshine, the orchard and the 
little brook running like a silver thread through the forest. 



290 HENRY IVOODFEhl GRADY 

" If I live till sundown, I will see it again. I will walk 
down the shady lane; I will open the battered gate, and the 
mocking-bird shall call to me from the orchard, and I will 
drink again at the old mossy spring." 

And he thought of the wife who had come from the neigh- 
boring farmhouse and put her hand shyly in his, and brought 
sweetness to his life and light to his home. "HI live till 
sundown, I shall look once more into her deep and loving 
eyes and press her brown head once more to my aching 
breast. ' ' 

And he thought of the old father, patient in prayer, bend- 
ing lower and lower every day under his load of sorrow and 
old age. " If I but live till sundown, I shall see him again 
and wind my strong arm about his feeble body, and his hands 
shall rest upon my head while the unspeakable healing of his 
blessing falls into my heart." 

And he thought of the little children that clambered on 
his knees and tangled their little hands into his heart-strings, 
making to him such music as the world shall not equal or 
heaven surpass. " If I live till sundown, they shall again find 
my parched lips with their warm mouths, and their little 
fingers shall run once more over my face." 

And he then thought of his old mother, who gathered these 
children about her and breathed her old heart afresh in their 
brightness and attuned her old lips anew to their prattle, that 
she might live till her big boy came home. "HI live till 
sundown, I will see her again, and I will rest my head at my 
old place on her knees, and weep away all memory of this 
desolate night." And the Son of God, who had died for 
men, bending from the stars, put the hand that had been 
nailed to the cross on ebbing life and held on the stanch 
until the sun went down and the stars came out, and shone 
down in the brave man's heart and blurred in his glistening 
eyes, and the lanterns of the surgeons came and he was taken 
from death to life. 

The world is a battle-field strewn with the wrecks of 



THE SOUTH AND HER PROBLEMS 29I 

government and institutions, of theories and of faiths that 
have gone down in the ravage of years. On this field lies the 
South, sown with her problems. Upon the field swing the 
lanterns of God. Amid the carnage walks the Great 
Physician. Over the South He bends. " If ye but live until 
to-morrow's sundown, ye shall endure, my countrymen." 
Let us for her sake turn our faces to the east and watch as the 
soldier watched for the coming sun. Let us stanch her 
wounds and hold steadfast. The sun mounts the skies. As 
it descends to us, minister to her and stand constant at her 
side for the sake of our children, and of generations unborn 
that shall suffer if she fails. And when the sun has gone 
down and the day of her probation has ended, and the stars 
have rallied her heart, the lanterns shall be swung over the 
field and the Great Physician shall lead her up, from trouble 
into content, from suffering into peace, from death to 
life. ... 

As I think of it, a vision of surpassing beauty unfolds to 
my eyes. I see a South, the home of fifty millions of people, 
who rise up every day to call from blessed cities, vast hives 
of industry and of thrift ; her country-sides the treasures from 
which their resources are drawn; her streams vocal with 
whirring spindles; her valleys tranquil in the white and gold 
of the harvest ; her mountains showering down the music of 
bells, as her slow-moving flocks and herds go forth from their 
folds; her rulers honest and her people loving, and her homes 
happy and their hearthstones bright, and their waters still, 
and their pastures green, and her conscience clear; her 
wealth diffused and poor-houses empty, her churches earnest 
and all creeds lost in the gospel. Peace and sobriety walk- 
ing hand in hand through her borders; honor in her homes; 
uprightness in her midst; plenty in her fields; straight and 
simple faith in the hearts of her sons and daughters: her two 
races walking together in peace and contentment; sunshine 
everywhere and all the time, and night falling on her as from 
the wings of an unseen dove. 



292 ANONYMOUS 



THE VICTOR OF MARENGO 

Anonymous. Based on an account of the battle of Marengo, by J. T. 
Headley, in "Napoleon and His Marshals," Vol. I, published, in 
1846, by Baker & Scribner, New York, N. Y. 

Napoleon was sitting in his tent; before him lay a map of 
Italy. He took four pins and stuck them up; measured, 
moved the pins, and measured again. "Now," said he, 
11 that is right; I will capture him there! " " Who, sir ? " 
said an officer. " Milas, the old fox of Austria. He will 
retire from Genoa, pass Turin, and fall back on Alexandria. 
I shall cross the Po, meet him on the plains of Laconia, and 
conquer him there," and the finger of the " child of 
destiny" pointed to Marengo. 

Two months later the memorable campaign of 1 800 began. 
The 20th of May saw Napoleon on the heights of St. Bernard. 
The 2 2d, Larmes, with the army of Genoa, held Padua. So 
far, all had been well with Napoleon. He had compelled the 
Austrians to take the position he desired; reduced the army 
from one hundred and twenty to forty thousand men; 
dispatched Murat to the right, and June 14th moved forward 
to consummate his masterly plan. 
• But God threatened to overthrow his scheme! A little 
rain had fallen in the Alps, and the Po could not be crossed 
in time. The battle was begun. Milas, pushed to the wall, 
resolved to cut his way out; and Napoleon reached the field 
to see Larmes beaten — Champeaux dead — Desaix still 
charging old Milas, with his Austrian phalanx at Marengo, 
till the consular guard gave way, and the well-planned vic- 
tory was a terrible defeat. Just as the day was lost, Desaix, 
the boy general, sweeping across the field at the head of his 
cavalry, halted on the eminence where stood Napoleon. 
There was in the corps a drummer-boy, a gamin whom 
Desaix had picked up in the streets of Paris. He had fol- 






THE VICTOR OF MAREhlGO 293 

lowed the victorious eagles of France in the campaigns of 
Egypt and Austria. 

As the columns halted, Napoleon shouted to him: " Beat 
a retreat!" The boy did not stir. "Gamin, beat a 
retreat! " The boy stopped, grasped his drumsticks, and 
said: " Sir, I do not know how to beat a retreat. Desaix 
never taught me that. But I can beat a charge. Oh ! I can 
beat a charge that would make the dead fall into line. I 
beat that charge at the Pyramids; I beat that charge at 
Mount Tabor; I beat it again at the bridge of Lodi. May 
I beat it here ? ' ' 

Napoleon turned to Desaix, and said : ' ' We are beaten ; 
what shall we do ? " " Do ? Beat them! It is only three 
o'clock, and there is time to win a victory yet. Up! gamin, 
the charge! Beat the old charge of Mount Tabor and 
Lodi! " A moment later the corps, following the sword- 
gleam of Desaix, and keeping step to the furious roll of the 
gamin's drum, swept down on the host of Austria. They 
drove the first line back on the second, both on the third, 
and there they died. Desaix fell at the first volley, but the 
line never faltered. And as the smoke cleared away, the 
gamin was seen in front of his line marching right on and 
still beating the furious charge. Over the dead and 
wounded, over breastworks and fallen foe, over cannon 
belching forth their fire of death, he led the way to victory, 
and the fifteen days in Italy were ended. 

To-day men point to Marengo in wonder. They admire 
the power and foresight that so skillfully planned the battle; 
but they forget that Napoleon failed, and that a general only 
thirty years of age made a victory of a defeat. They forget 
that a gamin of Paris put to shame " the child of destiny." 



294 WILLIAM PIERCE FRYE 



THE PROTECTION OF AMERICANS IN ARMENIA 

By William Pierce Frye, Lawyer; Member of Congress from Maine, 
1871-81; Senator, 1881 — . Born in Lewiston, Maine, 1831. 

From a speech made in the Senate, January 24, 1896 ; the Senate having under con- 
sideration resolutions relative to the massacre of Christians in Armenia. 

The good people of the United States have planted in 
Turkey over six million dollars for a single purpose, to im- 
prove and better the condition of the people of that country. 
They have erected as fine colleges as there are in the world. 
They have been maintained by American money. They have 
educated thousands and hundreds of thousands of Turks, or 
Armenians who are subject to Turkey. It has been a work 
of wonderful beneficence, a work which has had marvelous 
success, and yet it is stopped absolutely to-day. That 
American capital is now held up; it cannot do an ounce of 
work. At Harpoot the American colleges were burned down 
and the Americans themselves were compelled to flee for 
their lives. 

I do not know how far the United States of America can 
interfere in Turkey. I am in favor of these resolutions as 
an expression of our opinion upon the awful tragedies there; 
but if I had my way, after the powers of Europe have waited 
now a solid year looking each other in the face with sus- 
picious eyes and neither one daring to make a move lest the 
other shall receive a benefit — I say if I had my way, I would 
have Congress memorialize Russia and say to her: "Take 
Armenia into your possession, protect the lives of those 
Christians there, and the United States of America will stand 
behind you with all of its power." That, sir, is the 
memorial and resolution I would have passed. 

Sir, American citizens are suffering there. American lives 
and American property are being interfered with day by day 
in the interior of Armenia. I know that Americans are com- 
pelled to flee for their lives. I know that they do not receive 
the protection of the Turkish Government there. 



THE PROTECTION OF AMERICANS IN ARMENIA 295 

Now, so far as American citizens are concerned, I would 
protect them at any cost. We never agreed that the 
Dardanelles should be closed to us. There cannot be found 
a line in the policy of the United States of America which 
ever permitted any great navigable water to be closed to our 
ships; not one. On the contrary, we have been ready to go 
to war at any time to keep navigable waters open to our 
ships. We have given no assent to the agreement of the 
concerting nations over there that the Dardanelles shall be 
closed. If it was necessary to protect American citizens and 
their property, I would order United States war-ships, in 
spite of foreign agreements, to sail up the Dardanelles and 
plant themselves before Constantinople, and there demand 
that American citizens should have the protection they are 
entitled to. 

Mr. President, I think one of the grandest things in the 
history of Great Britain, and one thing for which I admire 
her, is that she does protect her citizens anywhere and every- 
where, under all circumstances. Her mighty power is put 
forth for their relief and protection, and it is admirable. I 
do not wonder that a British citizen loves his country. 
Why, that little incident, which all of you are familiar with, 
is a marvelous illustration of that. The King of Abyssinia 
took a British citizen by the name of Campbell, about twenty 
years ago, carried him up into the fortress of Magdala, on 
the heights of a lofty mountain, and put him into a dungeon 
without cause. It took six months for Great Britain to find 
that out, and then she demanded his immediate release. 
King Theodore refused to release him. In less than ten days 
after the refusal was received, three thousand British soldiers 
and five thousand sepoys were on board ships of war sailing 
for the coast. When they arrived they were disembarked, 
were marched seven hundred miles over swamp and morass 
under a burning sun, then up the mountain to the very 
heights, in front of the frowning dungeon, and then they 
gave battle. They battered down the iron gates, the stone 



296 ADAPTED 

walls. King Theodore had killed himself with his own 
pistol. Then they reached down into the dungeon with that 
English hand, lifted out from it that one British citizen, 
carried him down the mountain heights, across the same 
swamps and morass, landed him on the white-winged ships 
and sped him away to his home in safety. That cost Great 
Britain twenty-five million dollars and made General Napier 
Lord Napier of Magdala. 

Now, sir, that was a great thing for a country to do. A 
country that has an eye that can see away across an ocean, 
away across the many miles of land, up into the mountain 
heights, down into a darksome dungeon, one, just one of 
her thirty-eight million people, and then has an arm long 
enough and strong enough to reach across the same ocean, 
across the same swamps and marshes, up the same mountain 
heights, down into the same dungeon and pluck him out and 
carry him home to his own country a free man — in God's 
name who will not die for a country that will do that ? 

Well, Mr. President, our country will do it, and our 
country ought to do it. All that I ask of this grand Republic 
of ours is that it shall model itself after Great Britain, if it 
pleases, in this one thing, that the life of an American citizen 
shall be protected wherever he may be, whether in Great 
Britain or in Turkey, and in no other thing whatsoever. 

NOT GUILTY 

(Adapted) 

It was a sultry noon, and in the Jeff ersonvi lie court-house 
a murder trial was in progress. The prisoner, a strongly 
built and middle-aged negro, was evidently not impressed 
by any sense of peril, though already a clear case of murder 
had been proved against him, and only his statement and the 
argument remained. No testimony had been offered for the 
prisoner. A man had been stabbed; had fallen dead, his 
hands clasped over the wound. From beneath this hand, 
when convulsively opened, a knife had fallen, which the 



NOT GUILTY 297 

prisoner's wife seized and concealed. So much had been 
proved by the State's witnesses. 

The prisoner took the stand to make his statement. He 
declared that he had killed the deceased in self-defense, that 
the knife which fell from the relaxing hand was the dead 
man's. He told the story simply and quietly; and as he 
began it a tall thick-set gentleman, with iron-gray hair and 
clad in a gray suit, entered the room and stood silently by 
the door. As the prisoner resumed his seat, the newcomer 
entered within the rail and sat down near him. The solicitor 
then arose and stated his case in a few cold words. This 
man had stabbed another wantonly. If the knife was the 
property of the deceased, why was it not produced in court ? 
The prisoner's wife had picked it up. He passed the case 
to the jury, and the judge was preparing to deliver his charge 
when the old gentleman in gray rose to his feet. 

"If it please your Honor," he said, "the prisoner is 
entitled to the closing argument, and, in the absence of the 
other counsel, I beg you will mark my name for the 
defense." "Mr. Clerk," said the court, "mark General 
Robert Thomas for the defense." The silence was absolute; 
the jurymen stirred in their seats; something new was 
coming. Only this old man, grim, gray, and majestically 
defiant, stood between the negro and the grave. Suddenly 
the lips of the general opened, and he said with quick but 
quiet energy: " The knife that was found by the dead man's 
side was his own. He had drawn it before he was stabbed. 
Ben Thomas is a brave man, a strong man ; he would never 
have used a weapon upon him unarmed. A brave man who 
is full of strength never draws a weapon to repel a simple 
assault. The defendant drew when he saw a knife in the 
hand of his foe, not from fear, but to equalize the combat. 
Why do I say he was brave ? Every man upon the jury 
shouldered his musket during the war. Some of you were 
perhaps at Gettysburg; I was there too." A murmur of 
applause ran around the room; the old man's war record 



2 9 8 ADAPTED 

was a household legend. "I and the only brother that God 
ever gave me. I well remember that fight. The enemy met 
our charges with a courage and a grit that could not be 
shaken. Line after line melted away during those days, and 
at last came Pickett's charge. As that magnificent command 
rushed in, a negro man, a captain's body-servant, stood 
behind it, shading his eyes with his hands and waiting. 

; ' You know the result. Out of that vortex of flame and 
that storm of lead and iron a handful drifted back. From 
one to another this man of black skin ran ; then turned and 
followed in the trail of the charge. On, on he went, gone 
one moment and in sight the next, on, up to the flaming 
cannon themselves. Then there he stooped and lifted a 
form from the ground; and then, stumbling, staggering 
under his load, made his way back across that field of death, 
until, meeting him half-way, I took the burden myself from 
the hero and bore it myself to safety. That burden was the 
senseless form of my brother " — here he paused, and walked 
rapidly towards the prisoner, his arm raised on high, his 
voice ringing like a trumpet, — "gashed and bleeding and 
mangled, but alive, thank God! And the man who bore 
him out, who brought him to me in his arms as a mother 
would a sick child, himself torn by a fragment of a shell 
until the great heart was almost dropping from his breast, 
that man, O my friends, sits under my hand. See if I 
speak not the truth. " 

He tore open the prisoner's shirt, and laid bare his breast 
on which streamed the silent splendors of the afternoon sun; 
a great ragged scar marked it from left to right. " Look," 
he cried, " and bless the sight, for that scar was won by a 
slave in an hour that tried the courage of free men and put 
to its highest test the best manhood of the South. No man 
who wins such wounds can thrust a knife into an unarmed 
assailant. I have come seventy miles in my old age to say 
it." 

It may have been contrary to the evidence, but the jury 



SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS 299 

without leaving their seats returned a verdict of " not 

guilty"; and the solicitor, who bore a scar on his face, 
smiled as he received it. 



SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS 

By Elijah Kellogg, Preacher, Author. Born in Portland, Me., 1813. 

It had been a day of triumph in Capua. Lentulus, return- 
ing with victorious eagles, had amused the populace with the 
sports of the amphitheater to an extent hitherto unknown 
even in that luxurious city. The shouts of revelry had died 
away; the roar of the lion had ceased; the last loiterer had 
retired from the banquet, and the lights in the palace of the 
victor were extinguished. The moon, piercing the tissue of 
fleecy clouds, silvered the dewdrop on the corselet of the 
Roman sentinel, and tipped the dark waters of Volturnus 
with wavy, tremulous light. It was a night of holy calm, 
when the zephyr sways the young spring leaves, and whispers 
among the hollow reeds its dreamy music. No sound was 
heard but the last sob of some weary wave, telling its story 
to the smooth pebbles of the beach, and then all was still as 
the breast when the spirit has departed. 

In the deep recesses of the amphitheater a band of 
gladiators were crowded together, — their muscles still 
knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam upon their lips, 
and the scowl of battle yet lingering upon their brows, — 
when Spartacus, rising in the midst of that grim assemblage, 
thus addressed them: 

" Ye call me chief, and ye do well to call him chief who, 
for twelve long years, has met upon the arena every shape of 
man or beast that the broad Empire of Rome could furnish, 
and yet never has lowered his arm. And if there be one 
among you who can say that, ever, in public fight or private 
brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him step forth 
and say it. If there be three in all your throng dare face me 
on the bloody sand, let them come on ! 



3°o ELIJAH KELLOGG 

; 'Yet I was not always thus, a hired butcher, a savage 
chief of savage men. My father was a reverent man, who 
feared great Jupiter, and brought to the rural deities his 
offerings of fruits and flowers. He dwelt among the vine- 
clad rocks and olive groves at the foot of Helicon. My 
early life ran quiet as the brook by which I sported. I was 
taught to prune the vine, to tend the flock; and then, at 
noon, I gathered my sheep beneath the shade, and played 
upon the shepherd's flute. I had a friend, the son of our 
neighbor; we led our flocks to the same pasture, and shared 
together our rustic meal. 

■ ' One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were 
all seated beneath the myrtle that shaded our cottage, my 
grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra, 
and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a 
defile of the mountains, withstood a whole army. I did not 
then know what war meant; but my cheeks burned. I knew 
not why; and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, till 
my mother, parting the hair from off my brow, kissed my 
throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, and think no 
more of those old tales and savage wars. 

' ' That very night the Romans landed on our shore, and 
the clash of steel was heard within our quiet vale. I saw 
the breast that had nourished me trampled by the iron hoof 
of the war-horse ; the bleeding body of my father flung amid 
the blazing rafters of our dwelling. To-day I killed a man 
in the arena, and when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold! 
he was my friend! He knew me, — smiled faintly, — gasped, 
— and died; the same sweet smile that I had marked upon 
his face when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled some lofty 
cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in 
childish triumph. I told the praetor he was my friend, noble 
and brave, and I begged his body, that I might burn it upon 
the funeral -pile, and mourn over him. Ay, on my knees, 
amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that boon, 
while all the Roman maids and matrons, and those holy 



SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS 3 QI 

virgins they call vestals, and the rabble, shouted in mockery, 
deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest 
gladiator turn pale, and tremble like a very child before that 
piece of bleeding clay; but the praetor drew back as if I were 
pollution, and sternly said, ' Let the carrion rot! There are 
no noble men but Romans! ' And he, deprived of funeral 
rites, must wander, a hapless ghost, beside the waters of 
that sluggish river, and look — and look — and look in vain 
to the bright Elysian Fields where dwell his ancestors and 
noble kindred. And so must you, and so must I, die like 
dogs! 

' ' O Rome ! Rome ! thou hast been a tender nurse to me ! 
Ay, thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd-lad, 
who never knew a harsher sound than a flute-note, muscles 
of iron and a heart of flint; taught him to drive the sword 
through rugged brass and plaited mail, and warm it in the 
marrow of his foe ! to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the 
fierce Numidian lion, even as a smooth-cheeked boy upon a 
laughing girl. And he shall pay thee back till thy yellow 
Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life- 
blood lies curdled! 

; ' Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are! the strength 
of brass in your toughened sinews; but to-morrow some 
Roman Adonis, breathing sweet odors from his curly locks, 
shall come, and with his lily fingers pat your brawny 
shoulders, and bet his sesterces upon your blood! Hark! 
Hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? 'Tis three days since 
he tasted meat; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon 
your flesh ; and ye shall be a dainty meal for him. 

"If ye are brutes, then stand here like fat oxen waiting 
for the butcher's knife; if ye are men, follow me! strike 
down yon sentinel, and gain the mountain-passes, and there 
do bloody work as did your sires at old Thermopylae! Is 
Sparta dead ? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, 
that ye do crouch and cower like base-born slaves beneath 
your master's lash? O comrades! warriors! Thracians! if 



3° 2 JAMES GILLESPIE BLAINE 

we must fight, let us fight for ourselves ; if we must slaughter, 
let us slaughter our oppressors; if we must die, let us die 
under the open sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honor- 
able battle." 



NEW ENGLAND CHARACTER 

By James Gillespie Blaine, Journalist, Statesman. Author; Member 
of Congress from Maine, 1863-76; Senator, 1876-8 1; Secretary of 
State, 1881, 1889-1892. Born in West Brownsville, Penn., 1830; 
died in Washington, D. C, 1893. 

Taken from a speech made at a banquet of the New England Society in the City of 
New York, December 23, 1878. 

Mr. President, I am not ashamed to say in any presence 
that in the settlement of this continent and the shaping and 
moulding of its institutions the leading place, the chief 
merit, belongs to New England. Why, every chapter of its 
history is weighty with momentous events. A small number 
came in 1620; there was no immigration to speak of till 
1630; there was none after 1640. And the twenty-one thou- 
sand men that came in those brief years are the progenitors 
of a race that includes one-third of the people of the United 
States of America. They are the progenitors of a race of 
people twice as numerous as all who spoke the English 
language in the world when they came to these shores. 

The tyrannical father of Frederick the Great said to his 
tutor: "Instruct this young boy in history; do not dwell 
much on the ancients, but let him know everything that has 
happened in the last one hundred and fifty years." And I 
submit to you, Mr. President, that the great event which has 
happened in the last one hundred and fifty years — not to go 
back to 1620, the cause of which was planted then — has 
been the progress of the Anglo-Saxon race in the world. As 
I have said, not seven millions of people spoke the tongue 
when the Pilgrim Fathers landed at Plymouth ; not seventeen 
millions spoke it when the American Revolution was born. 
In this one hundred years — mark it well — great has been the 



mw ENGLAND CHARACTER 3° 3 

progress with other nations. The German Empire has been 
reformed, and is stronger and firmer than it ever existed 
before; Russia, springing from semi-barbarism, has come to 
be a great and first-class power; Italy has been born again, 
and promises something of its ancient grandeur; France has 
fallen and risen again, and fallen and again risen under the 
aid and inspiration of republican energy and patriotism. 
And yet, with all this progress of all these countries, the one 
great fact of the last hundred years is that when the Revolu- 
tion of the American colonies was fought, not seventeen 
million spoke the English tongue, and to-day one hundred 
million speak it. 

We are in the habit of deploring the hardships of the men 
who settled New England, and in deploring their hardships 
we are in the habit of alluding to them as a poor and friend- 
less and downcast race of men. They were anything else. 
They had the nerve and courage to endure hardship. But 
they were a class of men the like of which never before and 
never since emigrated from any land. They were men of 
intelligence and learning; they were men of property. They 
were men of education and large experience in affairs; they 
were men who had in the literature of that day Milton and 
Locke and Lightfoot; they were men who had in the minis- 
try John Robinson and Brewster and Davenport ; they were 
men who had in statesmanship Cromwell and Hampden and 
Pym; they were men who, in all the great departments of 
civil polity and in all the great features of personal and indi- 
vidual character at that day, led the van in the English race. 
And when we wonder at what has been done in New England 
we wonder without knowledge, for those men brought with 
them all the elements of success that has since crowned their 
efforts. And they brought with them one thing which has 
stuck pretty well to the end with them and their descendants, 
and that was the belief that if you set a principle that is 
founded on truth in motion it will go through. They 
believed, in the language of one of their most eloquent men, 



304 THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER 

that an army of principles will penetrate where an army of 
men cannot enter. The Rhine cannot stop it nor the ocean 
arrest its progress. It will march to the horizon of the 
world, and it will conquer. 



MEAGHER'S DEFENSE 

By Thomas Francis Meagher (Ma'her), Irish Orator, Brigadier-Gen- 
eral in the United States Army. Born in Waterford, Ireland, 1823 ; 
died near Fort Benton, Montana, 1867. 

In October, 1848, after the passage of the treason-felony act in Ireland, 
Meagher was convicted of treason and sentenced to death. "The 
sentence was afterward commuted to banishment for life, and on July 9, 
1849, he was transported to Van Diemen's Land, but he escaped in 1852 
and took refuge in the United States." 

A jury of my countrymen have found me guilty of the 
crime for which I stood indicted. For this I entertain not 
the slightest feeling of resentment towards them. Influenced, 
as they must have been, by the charge of the Lord Chief 
Justice, they could have found no other verdict. What of 
that charge ? Any strong observations on it I feel sincerely 
would ill befit the solemnity of this scene; but I would 
earnestly beseech of you, my Lord, — you who preside on 
that bench, — when the passions and prejudices of this hour 
have passed away, to appeal to your own conscience, and to 
ask of it, was your charge as it ought to have been, impartial 
and indifferent between the subject and the crown ? 

My Lords, you may deem this language unbecoming in 
me, and perhaps it will seal my fate. But I am here to speak 
the truth, whatever it may cost; I am here to regret nothing 
I have ever done, — to retract nothing I have ever said. I 
am here to crave, with no lying lip, the life I consecrate to 
the liberty of my country. Far from it, even here — here, 
where the thief, the libertine, the murderer, have left their 
footprints in the dust; here on this spot, where the shadows 
of death surround me, and from which I see my early grave 
in an unanointed soil opened to receive me, — even here, 



MEAGHER'S DEFENSE 3°5 

encircled by these terrors, the hope which has beckoned me 
to the perilous sea upon which I have been wrecked still 
consoles, animates, enraptures me. 

No; I do not despair of my poor old country, — her peace, 
her liberty, her glory. For that country, I can do no more 
than bid her hope. To lift this island up; to make her a 
benefactor to humanity, instead of being the meanest beggar 
in the world ; to restore her to her native powers and her 
ancient constitution, — this has been my ambition, and this 
ambition has been my crime. Judged by the law of England, 
I know this crime entails the penalty of death; but the his- 
tory of Ireland explains this crime, and justifies it. Judged 
by that history, I am no criminal, — I deserve no punishment. 
Judged by that history, the treason of which I stand con- 
victed loses all its guilt, is sanctioned as a duty, will be 
ennobled as a sacrifice. With these sentiments, my Lord, I 
await the sentence of the court. 

Having done what I felt to be ray duty, having spoken 
what I felt to be the truth, — as I have done on every other 
occasion of my short career, — I now bid farewell to the 
country of my birth, my passion, and my death ; the country 
whose misfortunes have invoked my sympathies; whose 
factions I have sought to still; whose intellect I have 
prompted to a lofty aim ; whose freedom has been my fatal 
dream. I offer to that country, as a proof of the love I bear 
her, and the sincerity with which I thought and spoke and 
struggled for her freedom, the life of a young heart, and with 
that life all the hopes, the honors, the endearments, of a 
happy and an honored home. Pronounce, then, my Lords, 
the sentence which the laws direct, and I will be prepared 
to hear it. I trust I shall be prepared to meet its execution. 
I hope to be able, with a pure heart and perfect composure, 
to appear before a higher tribunal, a tribunal where a Judge 
of infinite goodness as well as of justice will preside, and 
where, my Lords, many, many of the judgments of this world 
will be reversed. 



306 WILLIAM McKMLEY 

A CITIZEN'S RESPONSIBILITY 

By William McKinley, Lawyer, Statesman; Member of Congress, 
1876-90; Governor of Ohio, 1891-95; President of the United States, 
1897 — . Born in Niles, Ohio, 1843. 

From a speech delivered at Canton, Ohio, May 30, 1894. Reprinted, by permission 
of the publishers, from " McKinley's Masterpieces," published by L. C. Page & Co., 
Boston. 

Sumter and Appomattox! What a flood of memories 
these names excite! How they come unbidden to every 
soldier as he contemplates the great events of the war! The 
one marked the beginning, the other the close, of the great 
struggle. At one the shot was fired which threatened this 
Union and the downfall of liberty. The other proclaimed 
peace and wrote in history that the machinations which 
inaugurated war to establish a government with slavery as its 
corner-stone had failed. The one was the commencement 
of a struggle which drenched the nation in blood for four 
years; the other was its end and the beginning of a reunited 
country which has lasted now for twenty-nine years, and 
which, God grant, may last forever and forever more, blazing 
the pathway of freedom to the races of man everywhere, and 
loved by all the peoples of the world! The one marked the 
wild rush of mad passion; the other was the restoration of 
the cool judgment, disciplined by the terrible ordeal of four 
years of bloody war. Patriotism, justice, and righteousness 
triumphed. The Republic which God had ordained with- 
stood the shock of battle, and you and your comrades were 
the willing instruments in the hands of that divine Power 
that guides nations which love and serve Him. 

Howells, thirty-two years ago, expressed the simple and 
sublime faith of the soldier, and the prophecy of the outcome 
of the war, in words which burn in my soul whenever I pass 
in review the events of that struggle. He said : 
" Where are you going, soldiers, 

With banner, gun, and sword ? " 
"We 're marching south to Canaan — 
To battle for the Lord ! " 



TOUSSAINT LOUVERTURE 3° 7 

Yes, the Lord took care of us then. Will we heed His 
decrees and preserve unimpaired what He permitted us to 
win ? Liberty, my countrymen, is responsibility; responsi- 
bility is duty; duty is God's order, and when faithfully 
obeyed will preserve liberty. We need have no fears of the 
future if we will perform every obligation of duty and of 
citizenship. If w r e lose the smallest share of our freedom, 
we have no one to blame but ourselves. This country is 
ours — ours to govern, ours to guide, ours to enjoy. We are 
both sovereign and subject. All are now free, subject 
henceforth to ourselves alone. We pay no homage to an 
earthly throne; only to God we bend the knee. The soldier 
did his work and did it well. The present and the future 
are with the citizen, whose judgment in our free country is 
supreme. - 



TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE 

By Wendell Phillips, Lawyer, Orator. Born in Boston. Mass., 1811; 
died in Boston, 1884. 

From a lecture delivered in New York and Boston, December, 1861. Reprinted, by 
permission of the publishers, from " Speeches, Lectures, and Letters of Wendell 
Phillips," published by Lee & Shepard, Boston. 

If I were to tell you the story of Napoleon, I should take 
it from the lips of Frenchmen, who find no language rich 
enough to paint the great captain of the nineteenth century. 
Were I to tell you the story of Washington, I should take it 
from your hearts, — you, who think no marble white enough 
on which to carve the name of the Father of his country. 
But I am to tell you the story of a negro, Toussaint 
L'Ouverture, who has left hardly one written line. I am to 
glean it from the reluctant testimony of his enemies, men 
who despised him because he was a negro and a slave, hated 
him because he had beaten them in battle. 

Cromwell manufactured his own army. Napoleon, at the 
age of twenty-seven, was placed at the head of the best troops 



308 IVENDELL PHILLIPS 

Europe ever saw. Cromwell never saw an army till he was 
forty; this man never saw a soldier till he was fifty. Crom- 
well manufactured his own army — out of what ? English- 
men,— the best blood in Europe. Out of the middle class 
of Englishmen, — the best blood of the island. And with it 
he conquered what ? Englishmen, — their equals. This 
man manufactured his army out of what ? Out of what you 
call the despicable race of negroes, debased, demoralized by 
two hundred years of slavery, one hundred thousand of them 
imported into the island within four years, unable to speak 
a dialect intelligible even to each other. Yet out of this 
mixed and, as you say, despicable mass he forged a thunder- 
bolt, and hurled it at what ? At the proudest blood in 
Europe, the Spaniard, and sent him home conquered; at the 
most warlike blood in Europe, the French, and put them 
under his feet; at the pluckiest blood in Europe, the English, 
and they skulked home to Jamaica. Now, if Cromwell was 
a general, at least this man was a soldier. 

Now, blue-eyed Saxon, proud of your race, go back with 
me to the commencement of the century, and select what 
statesman you please. Let him be either American or 
European; let him have a brain the result of six generations 
of culture; let him have the ripest training of university 
routine; let him add to it the better education of practical 
life; crown his temples with the silver locks of seventy years, 
and show me the man of Saxon lineage for whom his most 
sanguine admirer will wreathe a laurel rich as embittered 
foes have placed on the brow of this negro, — rare military 
skill, profound knowledge of human nature, content to blot 
out all party distinctions, and trust a state to the blood of 
its sons, — anticipating Sir Robert Peel fifty years, and taking 
his station by the side of Roger Williams, before any English- 
man or American had won the right : and yet this is the 
record which the history of rival States makes up for this 
inspired black of St. Domingo. 

Some doubt the courage of the negro. Go to Hayti, and 



PHEIDIPPIDES 3° 9 

stand on those fifty thousand graves of the best soldiers 
France ever had, and ask them what they think of the 
negro's sword. 

I would call him Napoleon, but Napoleon made his way 
to empire over broken oaths and through a sea of blood. 
This man never broke his word. I would call him Cromwell, 
but Cromwell was only a soldier, and the state he founded 
went down with him into his grave. I would call him 
Washington, but the great Virginian held slaves. This man 
risked his empire rather than permit the slave-trade in the 
humblest village of his dominions. 

You think me a fanatic, for you read history, not with 
your eyes but with your prejudices. But fifty years hence, 
when Truth gets a hearing, the Muse of history will put 
Phocion for the Greek, Brutus for the Roman, Hampden for 
England, Fayette for France, choose Washington as the 
bright consummate flower of our earlier civilization, then, 
dipping her pen in the sunlight, will write in the clear blue, 
above them all, the name of the soldier, the statesman, the 
martyr, Toussaint L'Ouverture. 



PHEIDIPPIDES 

By Robert Browning, Poet. Born in Camberwell, England, 1812; 
died in Venice, Italy, 1889. 

When Athens was threatened by the invading Persians, she sent a 
fleet messenger to Sparta to demand aid against a foreign foe. The 
runner, Pheidippides, so says the legend, ran from Athens to Sparta and 
back again, a distance of three hundred miles, in two days and two 
nights. He returned to Athens with these words: 

First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock ! 
Gods of my birthplace, daemons and heroes, honor to 
all! . . . 

Archons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return ! 
See, 'tis myself here standing alive, no specter that speaks! 



310 ROBERT BROfVNING 

Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and 
you, 

' ' Run, Pheidippides, run and race, reach Sparta for aid ! 

Persia has come, we are here, where is She ? " Your com- 
mand I obeyed, 

Ran and raced : like stubble, some field which a fire runs 
through, 

Was the space between city and city : two days, two nights 
did I burn 

Over the hills, under the dales, down pits and up peaks. 

Into their midst I broke : breath served but for ' ' Persia has 

come! 
Persia bids Athens proffer slaves' -tribute, water and earth; 
Razed to the ground is Eretria — but Athens, shall Athens 

sink, 
Drop into dust and die — the flower of Hellas utterly die, 
Die, with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the 

stander-by ? 
Answer me. quick, what help ? " . . . 

Lo, their answer at last ! 

" Has Persia come, — does Athens ask aid, — may Sparta 

befriend ? . . . 
Ponder that precept of old, ' No warfare, whatever the odds 
In your favor, so long as the moon, half-orbed, is unable to 

take 
Full-circle her state in the sky! ' Already she rounds to it 

fast: 
Athens must wait, patient as we — who judgment suspend." 

Athens, — except for that sparkle, — thy name, I had mould- 
ered to ash! 

That sent a blaze through my blood; off, off and away was 
I back, 

Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the 
vile! 



PHEIDIPPIDES 311 

Yet " O Gods of my land! " I cried, as each hillock and 

plain, 
Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them 

again, 
' ' Have ye kept faith, proved mindful of honors we paid you 

erewhile ? " . . . 

Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Parnes' ridge; 

Gully and gap, I clambered and cleared till, sudden, a bar 

Jutted, a stoppage of stone against me, blocking the way. . . . 

There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he — majestical Pan ! 

Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his 

hoof: 
All the great God was good in the eyes grave-kindly — the 

curl 
Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortal's awe, 
As, under the human trunk, the goat -thighs grand I saw. 
" Halt, Pheidippides! " — halt I did, my brain of a whirl: 
" Hither to me! Why pale in my presence ? " he gracious 

began: . . . 

' ' Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith 

In the temples and tombs ! Go, say to Athens, ' The Goat- 
God saith: 

When Persia — so much as strews not the soil — is cast in the 
sea, 

Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and 
least, 

Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free 
and the bold! ' " . . . 

But enough ! He was gone. If I ran hitherto — 

Be sure that, the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but 
flew. 

Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the 
razor's edge! 

Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon rare! 



312 ROBERT BROWNING 

Then spoke Miltiades. ' ' And thee, best runner of Greece, 
Whose limbs did duty indeed, — what gift is promised thyself ? 
Tell it us straightway, — Athens the mother demands of her 



son 



Rosily blushed the youth : he paused : but, lifting at length 
His eyes from the ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest 

of his strength 
Into the utterance — " Pan spoke thus: ' For what thou hast 

done 
Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed thee 

release 
From the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in praise or in pelf! ' 

" I am bold to believe, Pan means reward the most to my 

mind! 
Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel may 

grow, — 
Pound — Tan helping us — Persia to dust, and, under the deep, 
Whelm her away forever; and then, — no Athens to save, — 
Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave, — 
Hie to my house and home; and, when my children shall 

creep 
Close to my knees, recount how the God was awful yet kind, 
Promised their sire reward to the full — rewarding him — so! " 

Unforeseeing one ! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day : 
So, when Persia was dust, all cried, " To Akropolis! 
Run, Pheidippides, one race more! the meed is thy due! 
' Athens is saved, thank Pan,' go shout! " He flung down 

his shield, 
Ran like fire once more : and the space 'twixt the Fennel-field 
And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs 

through, 
Till in he broke: "Rejoice, we conquer!" Like wine 

through clay, 
Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died — the bliss! 



THE NEIV SOUTH 3 X 3 

So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute 
Is still "Rejoice!" — his word which brought rejoicing 

indeed. 
So is Pheidippides happy forever, — the noble strong man 
Who could race like a God, bear the face of a God, whom a 

God loved so well, 
He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was 

suffered to tell 
Such tidings, yet never decline, but, gloriously as he began, 
So to end gloriously — once to shout, thereafter be mute: 
" Athens is saved! " Pheidippides dies in the shout for his 

meed. 



THE NEW SOUTH 

By Henry Woodfen Grady, Journalist, Orator. Born at Athens, Ga., 
185 1; died at Atlanta, 1889. 

Taken from a speech at a banquet of the New England Society in the city of New 
York, December 21, 1886. See New York Tribune, Dec. 22, 1886; also " Henry W. 
Grady : His Life, Writings, and Speeches," published, in 1890, by The Cassell Pub- 
lishing Co., New York, N. Y. 

You have just been told how, in the pomp and circum- 
stance of war, your returning armies came back to you, 
marching with proud and victorious tread, reading their glory 
in a nation's eyes! 

Let me picture to you the footsore Confederate soldier as, 
buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was 
to bear testimony to his children of his fidelity and faith, he 
turned his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865. 
Think of him as ragged, half-starved, heavy-hearted, en- 
feebled by want and wounds, having fought to exhaustion, 
he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in 
silence, and lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the 
last time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, pulls 
his gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and painful 
journey. What does he find ? — let me ask you who went to 



3 J 4 HENRY IVOODFEN GRADY 

your homes eager to find, in the welcome you had justly 
earned, full payment for four years' sacrifice. He finds his 
house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves free, his stock 
killed, his barns empty, his trade destroyed, his money 
worthless, his social system, feudal in its magnificence, swept 
away; his people without law or legal status; his comrades 
slain, and the burdens of others heavy on his shoulders. 
Crushed by defeat, his very traditions are gone. Without 
money, credit, employment, material, or training; and beside 
all this, confronted with the gravest problem that ever met 
human intelligence — the establishing of a status for the vast 
body of his liberated slaves. 

What does he do — this hero in gray with a heart of gold ? 
Does he sit down in sullenness and despair ? Not for a day. 
Surely God, who had stripped him of his prosperity, inspired 
him in his adversity. As ruin was never before so over- 
whelming, never was restoration swifter. The soldier stepped 
from the trenches into the furrow; horses that had charged 
Federal guns marched before the plow, and fields that ran 
red with human blood in April were green with the harvest 
in June. From the ashes left us in 1864 we have raised a 
brave and beautiful city; somehow or other we have caught 
the sunshine in the bricks and mortar of our homes, and 
have builded therein not one ignoble prejudice or memory. 

It is a rare privilege to have had part, however humble, 
in this work. Never was nobler duty confided to human 
hands than the uplifting and upbuilding of the prostrate and 
bleeding South — misguided, perhaps, but beautiful in her 
suffering, and honest, brave, and generous always. 

The new South is enamored of her new work. Her soul 
is stirred with the breath of a new life. The light of a 
grander day is falling fair on her face. She is thrilling with 
the consciousness of growing power and prosperity. As she 
stands upright, full-statured and equal among the people of 
the earth, breathing the keen air and looking out upon the 
expanded horizon, she understands that her emancipation 



THE NEIV SOUTH 3 1 5 

came because through the inscrutable wisdom of God her 
honest purpose was crossed, and her brave armies were 
beaten. 

This is said in no spirit of time-serving or apology. The 
South has nothing for which to apologize. I should be 
unjust to the dauntless spirit of the South and to my own 
convictions if I did not make this plain in this presence. 
The South has nothing to take back. In my native town of 
Athens is a monument that crowns its central hill — a plain, 
white shaft. Deep cut into its shining side is a name dear 
to me above the names of men — that of a brave and simple 
man who died in brave and simple faith. Not for all the 
glories of New England, from Plymouth Rock all the way, 
would I exchange the heritage he left me in his soldier's 
death. To the foot of that I shall send my children's 
children to reverence him who ennobled their name with his 
heroic blood. But, speaking from the shadow of that 
memory which I honor as I do nothing else on earth, I say 
that the cause in which he suffered and for which he gave his 
life was adjudged by higher and fuller wisdom than his or 
mine, and I am glad that the omniscient God held the 
balance of battle in His almighty hand, and that human 
slavery was swept forever from American soil, the American 
Union was saved from the wreck of war. 

Now, what answer has New England to this message ? 
Will she permit the prejudice of war to remain in the hearts 
of the conquerors, when it has died in the hearts of the con- 
quered ? Will she transmit this prejudice to the next genera- 
tion, that in their hearts, which never felt the generous ardor 
of conflict, it may perpetuate itself ? Will she withhold, save 
in strained courtesy, the hand which straight from his 
soldier's heart Grant offered to Lee at Appomattox ? Will 
she make the vision of a restored and happy people, which 
gathered above the couch of your dying captain, filling his 
heart with grace, touching his lips with praise, and glorifying 
his path to the grave — will she make this vision on which the 



3 l6 HENRYK SIENKIEIVICZ 

last sigh of his expiring soul breathed a benediction, a cheat 
and a delusion ? If she does, the South, never abject in asking 
for comradeship, must accept with dignity its refusal; but if 
she does not refuse to accept in frankness and sincerity this 
message of good will and friendship, then will the prophecy 
of Webster, delivered in this very society forty years ago 
amid tremendous applause, become true, be verified in its 
fullest sense, when he said: "Standing hand to hand and 
clasping hands, we should remain united as we have been for 
sixty years, citizens of the same country, members of the 
same government, united, all united now and united for- 



THE RESCUE OF LYGIA 

By Henryk SlENKlEWicz. Translated from the Polish Original by- 
Jeremiah Curtin. Taken, by permission of the publishers, from 
"Quo Vadis," published by Little, Brown & Co., Boston. 

Jeremiah Curtin. Author; born in Milwaukee, Wis., 1840. Henryk 
Sienkiewicz (se'enke'avich), Polish Novelist; born at Okreya, Poland, 
1846. 

Though the [Roman] people were sated already with 
blood-spilling, still, when the news went forth that the end 
of the games was approaching, and that the last of the 
Christians were to die at an evening spectacle, a countless 
audience assembled in the amphitheater. . . . Those who 
had seen Lygia at the house of Plautius told wonders of her 
6eauty. Others were occupied above all with the question, 
would they see her really on the arena that day? . . . 

Uncertainty, waiting, and curiosity had mastered all spec- 
tators. Caesar arrived earlier than usual ; and immediately 
at his coming people whispered that something uncommon 
would happen, for . . . Caesar had with him Cassius, a cen- 
turion of enormous size and gigantic strength, whom he 
summoned only when he wished to have a defender at his 
side. ... It was noted also that certain precautions had 



THE RESCUE OE LYGIA 3 X 7 

been taken in the amphitheater itself. The pretorian guards 
were increased; command over them was held, not by a 
centurion, but by the tribune Subrius Flavius, known hitherto 
for blind attachment to Nero. It was understood, then, 
that Caesar wished in every case to secure himself against an 
outburst of despair from Vinicius, and curiosity rose all the 
more. 

Every eye was turned with strained gaze to the place where 
the unfortunate lover was sitting. He was exceedingly pale, 
and his forehead was covered with drops of sweat ; he was in 
as much doubt as were other spectators, but alarmed to the 
lowest depths of his soul. . . . Despair, which had been 
set at rest, began again to cry in his soul ; the former desire 
to save Lygia at any price seized him anew. . . . He said 
in his soul that Christ might take her to himself out of the 
prison, but could not permit her torture in the Circus. . . . 
" Thou canst! " repeated he, clenching his fists convulsively, 
"Thou canst!". . . . "Do not refuse even this, and I 
will love thee still more than hitherto.". . . He crushed 
doubt in himself, he compressed his whole being into the 
sentence, "I believe," and he looked for a miracle. . . . 
At that very instant, almost, the prefect of the city waved a red 
handkerchief, the hinges opposite Caesar's podium creaked, 
and out of the dark gully came Ursus into the brightly 
lighted arena. 

The giant blinked, dazed evidently by the glitter of the 
arena; then he pushed into the center, gazing around as if 
to see what he had to meet. ... In Rome there was no 
lack of gladiators larger by far than the common measure of 
man, but Roman eyes had never seen the like of Ursus. . . . 
Senators, vestals, Caesar, the Augustians, and the people 
gazed with the delight of experts at his mighty limbs, as large 
as tree-trunks, at his breast, as large as two shields joined 
together, and his arms of a Hercules. . . . The murmur 
rose to shouts, and eager questions were put : Where did the 
people live who could produce such a giant ? He stood 



3i8 HENRYK SIENKIEIVICZ 

there, in the middle of the amphitheater, naked, more like 
a stone colossus than a man, with a collected expression, and 
at the same time the sad look of a barbarian; and while sur- 
veying the empty arena, he gazed wonderingly with his blue 
childlike eyes, now at the spectators, now at Caesar, now at 
the grating of the cunicula, whence, as he thought, his 
executioners would come. . . . 

He was unarmed, and determined to die as became a 
confessor of the " Lamb," peacefully and patiently. Mean- 
while he wished to pray once more to the Saviour; so he 
knelt on the arena, joined his hands, and raised his eyes 
towards the stars which were glittering in the lofty opening 
of the amphitheater. 

That act displeased the crowds. They had had enough 
of those Christians who died like sheep. They understood 
that if the giant would not defend himself the spectacle 
would be a failure. Here and there hisses were heard. 
Some began to cry for scourgers, whose office it was to lash 
combatants unwilling to fight. . . . 

Suddenly the shrill sound of brazen trumpets was heard, 
and at that signal a grating opposite Caesar's podium was 
opened, and into the arena rushed, amid shouts of beast- 
keepers, an enormous German aurochs, bearing on his head 
the naked body of a woman. 

" Lygia! Lygia! " cried Vinicius. 

Then he seized his hair near the temples, squirmed like a 
man who feels a sharp dart in his body, and began to repeat 
in hoarse accents, — 

" I believe! I believe! O Christ, a miracle! "... 

This time the amphitheater was silent. The Augustians 
rose in their places, as one man, for in the arena something 
uncommon had happened. That Lygian, obedient and 
ready to die, when he saw his queen on the horns of the 
wild beast, sprang up, as if touched by living fire, and bend- 
ing forward he ran at the raging animal. 



THE RESCUE OF LYGIA 3 X 9 

From all breasts a sudden cry of amazement was heard, 
after which came deep silence. 

The Lygian fell on the raging bull in a twinkle, and seized 
him by the horns. . . . 

All breasts ceased to breathe. In the amphitheater a fly 
might be heard on the wing. People could not believe their 
own eyes. Since Rome was Rome, no one had seen such a 
spectacle. 

The Lygian held the wild beast by the horns. The man's 
feet sank in the sand to his ankles, his back was bent like a 
drawn bow, his head was hidden between his shoulders, on 
his arms the muscles came out so that the skin almost burst 
from their pressure; but he had stopped the bull in his 
tracks. And the man and the beast remained so still that 
the spectators thought themselves looking at a picture show- 
ing a deed of Hercules or Theseus, or a group hewn from 
stone. But in that apparent repose there was a tremendous 
exertion of two struggling forces. The bull sank his feet as 
well as did the man in the sand, and his dark, shaggy body 
was curved so that it seemed a gigantic ball. Which of the 
two would fail first, which would fall first ? . . . 

In the Circus nothing was heard save the sound of flame 
in the lamps, and the crackle of bits of coal as they dropped 
from the torches. Their voices died on the lips of the spec- 
tators, but their hearts were beating in their breasts as if to 
split them. It seemed to all that the struggle was lasting 
for ages. . . . 

Meanwhile a dull roar resembling a groan was heard from 
the arena, after which a brief shout was wrested from every 
breast, and again there was silence. People thought them- 
selves dreaming till the enormous head of the bull began to 
turn in the iron hands of the barbarian. The face, neck, 
and arms of the Lygian grew purple; his back bent still 
more. It was clear that he was rallying the remnant of his 
superhuman strength, but that he could not last long. 

Duller and duller, hoarser and hoarser, more and more 



320 HENRY K S1ENK1EIVICZ 

painful grew the groan of the bull as it mingled with the 
whistling breath from the breast of the giant. The head of 
the beast turned more and more, and from his jaws came a 
long, foaming tongue. 

A moment more and to the eyes of the spectators sitting 
near came as it were the crack of breaking bones; then the 
beast rolled on the earth with his neck twisted in death. 

The giant removed in a twinkle the ropes from the horns 
of the bull, and, raising the maiden, began to breathe 
hurriedly. His face became pale, his hair stuck together 
from sweat, his shoulders and arms seemed flooded with 
water. For a moment he stood as if only half conscious; 
then he raised his eyes and looked at the spectators. 

The amphitheater had gone wild. 

The walls of the building were trembling from the roar of 
tens of thousands of people. Since the beginning of spec- 
tacles there was no memory of such excitement. . . . 
Everywhere were heard cries for mercy, passionate and per- 
sistent, which soon turned into one unbroken thunder. 
That giant had become dear to those people enamored of 
physical strength : he was the first personage in Rome. 

He understood that the multitude were striving to grant 
him his life and restore him his freedom, but clearly his 
thought was not on himself alone. He looked around 
awhile; then approached Caesar's podium, and, holding the 
body of the maiden on his outstretched arms, raised his eyes 
with entreaty, as if to say, — 

" Have mercy on her! Save the maiden. I did that for 
her sake! "... 

At the sight of the unconscious maiden, who near the 
enormous Lygian seemed a child, emotion seized the multi- 
tude of senators and knights. . . . Some thought the man 
a father begging mercy for his child. Pity burst forth sud- 
denly, like a flame. They had had blood, death, and torture 
in sufficiency. Voices choked with tears began to entreat 
mercv for both. 



THE RESCUE OF LYGIA 3 21 

But Caesar halted and hesitated. Against Vinicius he had 
no hatred indeed, and the death of Lygia did not concern 
him ; but he preferred to see the body of the maiden rent by 
the horns of the bull or torn by the claws of the beasts. . . . 
And now the people wanted to rob him. Hence anger 
appeared on his bloated face. Self-love also would not let 
him yield to the wish of the multitude, and still he did not 
dare to oppose it, through his inborn cowardice. 

So he gazed around to see if among the Augustians, at 
least, he could not find fingers turned down in sign of death. 
But Petronius held up his hand, and looked almost challeng- 
ingly into Nero's face. 

Then Nero turned to the place where command over the 
pretorians was held by the stern Subrius Flavius, hitherto 
devoted with whole soul to him, and saw something unusual. 
The face of the old tribune was stern, but covered with tears 
and he was holding his hand up in sign of mercy. 

Now rage began to possess the multitude. Dust rose from 
beneath the stamping feet and rilled the amphitheater. In 
the midst of the shouts were heard cries: " Ahenobarbus! 
matricide! incendiary! " 

Nero was alarmed. . . . He understood that to oppose 
longer was simply dangerous. A disturbance begun in the 
Circus might seize the whole city, and have results incalcu- 
lable. 

He looked once more at Subrius Flavius, at Scevinus the 
centurion, a relative of the senator, at the soldiers; and 
seeing everywhere frowning brows, moved faces, and eyes 
fixed on him, he gave the sign of mercy. 

Then a thunder of applause was heard from the highest 
seats to the lowest. The people were sure of the lives of the 
condemned, for from that moment they went under their 
protection, and even Caesar would not have dared to pursue 
them any longer with his vengeance. 



322 JOHN HAY 



JIM BLUDSO, OF THE PRAIRIE BELLE 

By John Hay, Author, Poet, Lawyer, Diplomat; Ambassador to Eng- 
land, 1897-98; Secretary of State, 1898 — . Born in Salem, Indiana, 
1838. 

Taken, by permission of the publishers, from " Poems by John Hay," published by 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston. 

Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives, 

Because he don't live, you see; 

Leastways, he's got out of the habit 

Of livin' like you and me. 

Whar have you been for the last three year 

That you haven't heard folks tell 

How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks 

The night of the Prairie Belle ? 

He weren't no saint, — them engineers 

Is all pretty much alike, — 

One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill 

And another one here, in Pike; 

A keerless man in his talk was Jim, 

And an awkward hand in a row, 

But he never flunked, and he never lied, — 

I reckon he never knowed how. 

And this was all the religion he had, — 

To treat his engine well; 

Never be passed on the river; 

To mind the pilot's bell; 

And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire, — 

A thousand times he swore, 

He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank 

Till the last soul got ashore. 

All boats has their day on the Mississip, 
And her day come at last, — 



JIM BLUDSO, OF THE PRAIRIE BELLE $2$ 

The Movastar was a better boat, 

But the Belle she wouldn't be passed. 

And so she come tearin' along that night — 

The oldest craft on the line — 

With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, 

And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine. 

The fire bust out as she clared the bar, 

And burnt a hole in the night, 

And quick as a flash she turned, and made 

For that wilier-bank on the right. 

There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out, 

Over all the infernal roar, 

" I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank 

Till the last galoot's ashore." 

Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat 

Jim Bludso's voice was heard, 

And they all had trust in his cussedness, 

And knowed he would keep his word. 

And, sure's you're born, they all got off 

Afore the smokestacks fell, — 

And Bludso's ghost went up alone 

In the smoke of the Prairie Belle. 

He weren't no saint, — but at jedgment 
I'd run my chance with Jim, 
'Longside of some pious gentlemen 
That would n't shook hands with him. 
He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing, — 
And he went for it thar and then; 
And Christ ain't agoing to be too hard 
On a man that died for men. 



324 ALBERT JEREMIAH BEVERIDGE 



AMERICA'S MISSION 

By Albert Jeremiah Beveridge, Lawyer; Senator from Indiana, 
1899 — . Born in Highland County, Ohio, 1862. 

From a speech delivered in the Senate, January 19, 1900. See Congressional Record, 
January 19, 1900. 

Mr. President, this question of our duty to the Philippines 
is deeper than any question of party politics. It is elemen- 
tal. It is racial. God has made the English-speaking 
peoples the master organizers of the world to establish system 
where chaos reigns. And of all our race He has marked the 
American people as His chosen nation to finally lead in the 
regeneration of the world. This is the divine mission of 
America. The judgment of the Master is upon us: "Ye 
have been faithful over a few things; I will make you rulers 
over many things. ' ' 

What shall history say to us ? Shall it say that we re- 
nounced that holy trust, deserted duty, abandoned glory, 
forgot our sordid profit even, because we feared our strength 
and read the charter of our powers with the doubter's eye 
and the quibbler's mind ? Shall it say that, called by events 
to captain and command the proudest, ablest, purest race 
of history in history's noblest work, we declined that great 
commission? Our fathers would not have had it so. No! 
They planted no sluggard people, passive while the work 
calls them. They established no reactionary nation. They 
unfurled no retreating flag. 

Do you tell me that it will cost us money ? When did 
Americans ever measure duty by financial standards ? Do 
you tell me of the tremendous toil required to overcome the 
vast difficulties of our task ? What mighty work for the 
world, for humanity, even for ourselves, has ever been done 
with ease ? Why are we charged with power such as no 
people ever knew, if we are not to use it in a work such as 
no people ever wrought ? 



AMERICAS MISSION 3 2 5 

Do you remind me of the precious blood that must be 
shed, the lives that must be given, the broken hearts of loved 
ones for their slain ? And this is indeed a heavier price than 
all combined. And yet as a nation every historic duty we 
have done, every achievement we have accomplished, has 
been by the sacrifice of our noblest sons. Every holy 
memory that glorifies the flag is of those heroes who have 
died that its onward march might not be stayed. That flag 
is woven of heroism and grief, of bravery of men and 
women's tears, of righteousness and battle, of sacrifice and 
anguish, of triumph and glory. In the cause of civilization, 
in the service of the Republic anywhere on earth, Americans 
consider wounds the noblest decorations man can win, and 
count the giving of their lives a glad and precious duty. 

Pray God that spirit never fails. Pray God the time may 
never come when American heroism is but a legend like the 
story of the Cid, American faith in our mission and our might 
a dream dissolved, and the glory of our mighty race departed. 

And that time will never come. We will renew our youth 
at the fountain of new and glorious deeds. We will exalt 
our reverence for the flag by carrying it to a noble future as 
well as by remembering its ineffable past. Its immortality 
will not pass, because everywhere and always we will 
acknowledge and discharge the solemn responsibilities our 
sacred flag, in its deepest meaning, puts upon us. And so, 
with reverent hearts, where dwells the fear of God, the 
American people move forward to the future of their hope 
and the doing of His work. 

Mr. President and Senators, adopt the resolution offered, 
that peace may quickly come and that we may begin our 
saving, regenerating, and uplifting work. Adopt it, and 
this bloodshed will cease. How dare we delay when our 
soldiers' blood is flowing ? 



326 ROBERT GREEN 1NGERS0LL 



THE VISION OF WAR 

By Robert Green Ingersoll, Lawyer, Lecturer, Orator. Born in 
Dresden, N. Y., 1833; died in New York, N. Y., 1899. 

Extract from a speech delivered at the soldiers' reunion at Indianapolis, September 
2i, 1876. Reprinted, by permission of the publisher, from " Prose Poems," copyright, 
1884, by C. P. Farrell, New York. 

The past rises before me like a dream. Again we are in 
the great struggle for national life. We hear the sounds of 
preparation — the music of boisterous drums — the silver 
voices of heroic bugles. We see thousands of assemblages, 
and hear the appeals of orators. We see the pale cheeks of 
women, and the flushed faces of men; and in those assem- 
blages we see all the dead whose dust we have covered with 
flowers. We lose sight of them no more. We are with 
them when they enlist in the great army of freedom. We 
see them part with those they love. Some are walking for 
the last time in quiet, woody places, with the maidens they 
adore. We hear the whisperings and the sweet vows of 
eternal love as they lingeringly part forever. Others are 
bending over cradles, kissing babes that are asleep. Some 
are receiving the blessings of old men. Some are parting 
with mothers who hold them and press them to their hearts 
again and again, and say nothing. Kisses and tears, tears 
and kisses — divine mingling of agony and love! And some 
are talking with wives, and endeavoring with brave words, 
spoken in the old tones, to drive from their hearts the awful 
fear. We see them part. W r e see the wife standing in the 
door with the babe in her arms — standing in the sunlight 
sobbing. At the turn of the road a hand waves — she 
answers by holding high in her loving arms the child. He 
is gone, and forever. 

We see them all as they march proudly away under the 
flaunting flags, keeping time to the grand, wild music of war 
■ — marching down the streets of the great cities — through the 



THE VISION OF IV A R 3 2 7 

towns and across the prairies — down to the fields of glory, 
to do and to die for the eternal right. 

We go with them, one and all. We are by their side on 
all the gory fields — in all the hospitals of pain — on all the 
weary marches. We stand guard with them in the wild 
storm and under the quiet stars. We are with them in 
ravines running with blood — in the furrows of old fields. 
We are with them between contending hosts, unable to 
move, wild with thirst, the life ebbing slowly away among 
the withered leaves. We see them pierced by balls and torn 
with shells, in the trenches, by forts, and in the whirlwind 
of the charge, where men become iron, with nerves of steel. 

We are with them in the prisons of hatred and famine; 
but human speech can never tell what they endured. 

We are at home when the news comes that they are dead. 
We see the maiden in the shadow of her first sorrow. We 
see the silvered head of the old man bowed with the last grief. 

The past rises before us, and we see four millions of 
human beings governed by the lash — we see them bound 
hand and foot — we hear the strokes of cruel whips — we see 
the hounds tracking women through tangled swamps. We 
see babes sold from the breasts of mothers. Cruelty unspeak- 
able ! Outrage infinite ! 

Four million bodies in chains — four million souls in 
fetters. All the sacred relations of wife, mother, father, and 
child trampled beneath the brutal feet of might. And all 
this was done under our own beautiful banner of the free. 

The past rises before us. We hear the roar and shriek of 
the bursting shell. The broken fetters fall. These heroes 
died. We look. Instead of slaves we see men and women 
and children. The wand of progress touches the auction- 
block, the slave-pen, the whipping-post, and we see homes 
and firesides and schoolhouses and books, and where all 
was want and crime and cruelty and fear, we see the faces of 
the free. 

These heroes are dead. They died for liberty — they died 



328 THEODORE D WIGHT WELD 

for us. They are at rest. They sleep in the land they made 
free, under the flag they rendered stainless, under the solemn 
pines, the sad hemlocks, the tearful willows, and the em- 
bracing vines. They sleep beneath the shadows of the 
clouds, careless alike of sunshine or of storm, each in the 
windowless palace of Rest. Earth may run red with other 
wars: they are at peace. In the midst of battle, in the roar 
of conflict, they found the serenity of death. I have one 
sentiment for soldiers living and dead: Cheers for the living; 
tears for the dead. 



AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF WENDELL PHILLIPS 

By Theodore Dwight Weld, "a reformer of Boston, long prominent 
as an Abolitionist." Born 1803; died 1895. 

Adapted from an address delivered at memorial services upon the seventy-fourth 
birthday of Wendell Phillips, November 29, 1885. 

December 8, 1837, witnessed a memorable scene in 
Faneuil Hall. There, in the old Cradle of Liberty, a great 
birth was born for Freedom's trial hour. There the frenzy 
of a pro-slavery mob was, for the first time, confronted, and 
with a sublime audacity defied and whelmed in defeat; an 
assault as triumphant in its issue as it was daring and resist- 
less in its victorious grapple. 

The immediate occasion of that scene which immortalized 
anew the old Cradle of Liberty was the series of tragedies 
enacted by pro-slavery mobs in St. Louis, Mo., and Alton, 
111., destroying successively two printing-offices, four presses 
and sets of types, and murdering Lovejoy, the editor of the 
St. Louis Observer, who, despite threats and curses, 
branded slavery as sin. For this mobs hurled to destruction 
offices, presses, types, and editor. Pierced with five balls 
he lay in his blood, his murderers scoffing over him. While 
these atrocities were the special occasion of that Faneuil 
Hall meeting, its logical antecedents, grown then to a mul- 
titude, compelled those who called it to instant action. 



AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF WENDELL PHILLIPS 3 2 9 

Two years before that meeting, Wendell Phillips, from the 
glowing threshold of his young manhood, looked down on 
Boston helpless in the clutches of a mob of thousands, its 
mayor, aldermen, and police consenting and conniving, 
while law, justice, and civilization itself lay trodden in the 
streets. He saw William Lloyd Garrison, for words spoken 
against slavery, pounced upon by a mob, driven and dragged 
half nude through the streets of Boston, while anarchy 
defiant shouted over its barbarian conquest. 

The hour for the meeting came; those in sympathy with 
its object filled the first floor: earnest, enkindled, deter- 
mined, and silent, there they stood. The gallery was packed 
with a crowd of another sort, lawless, turbulent, fierce, bent 
on riot, and lowering malign upon the law-abiding phalanx 
below. Then in the front gallery uprose a bold-faced man 
and launched into a violent harangue. His whole aspect 
revealed the bully, truculent, insolent, and defiant, his face 
a sneer, his voice a taunt, his whole air threat and swagger, 
as he shouted, " Lovejoy died like a fool." Then he com- 
pared the drunken mob that shot him down to the Revolu- 
tionary sires, who spurned overboard that hated tea taxed 
by British usurpation ; thus glorifying a mob of assassins by 
likening their atrocities to the patriotic exploits of the men 
of 'j6, and thus dragging them down to the depths of infamy 
along with bandits and brigands. 

Who was this railing brawler vilifying the Revolutionary 
dead by herding them with murderers ? The Attorney- 
General of Massachusetts, the highest legal officer of the 
Commonwealth. Was this a man whom the grand old Bay 
State delighted to honor ? She had sunk thus low. Then 
it was when liberty, law, and justice put on sack-cloth, cast 
dust upon their heads, and sat down wailing forlorn 
together; for truth had fallen in the streets, equity could 
not enter, justice stood afar off, and judgment was turned 
away backward. 

Profoundly revolving these horrors, Wendell Phillips had 



33° THEODORE DIVIGHT WELD 

come up to this great consult in the old Cradle of Liberty. 
Musing on the drear past, brooding over the heaving present, 
and forecasting the portentous future, he could give less heed 
than he would to the wise words of the venerated Channing. 
But when the brutal harangue of the Attorney-General smote 
his ear, his half reverie broke with a crash, as he heard 
Austin's scornful flout of Lovejoy, that he " died like a 
fool," his impious eulogy of his murderers, his sacrilegious 
slander of the Revolutionary dead. 

As soon as Austin's last brutal words dropped, Phillips 
sprang to the lectern. Then came that outburst of elo- 
quence, in tempest, soul of fire, flashing its lightnings from 
a tongue of flame. " Sir, when I heard principles laid down 
that place the murderers of Alton side by side with Otis and 
Hancock, with Quincy and Adams, I thought those pictured 
lips would have broken into voice to rebuke that recreant 
American, the slanderer of the dead. Sir, for the sentiment 
he has uttered on soil consecrated by the prayers of Puritans 
and the blood of patriots the earth should have yawned and 
swallowed him up! " Then from the mob in the gallery 
burst howls of rage, and down plunged an avalanche of yells 
and curses. Babel clanged jargon, and Bedlam broke loose, 
drowning all speech. At last these mob yells came clanging 
through the din : ' ' Take that back ; take that back ; make 
him take back that word ' recreant ' ; he shan't go on till he 
has taken that back ! ' ' 

At length mob throats grew hoarse, and Phillips began : 
" I will not take back my words. Surely the Attorney- 
General of Massachusetts needs not the aid of your hisses 
against one so young as I am." 

When Phillips' volcanic outburst had blown the Attorney- 
General out of sight he began to dissect his argument. He 
showed that it was neither law nor logic, had neither premise 
nor conclusion, was a sheer inflammatory harangue to in- 
furiate the mob he led. At the end of Phillips' speech where 
was that burly swell of brag, brass, and bluster? At the 



THE OTHER FELLOW 331 

outset sneering, insolent, defiant, he had burst upon the 
meeting with the swing and swagger of a bravado. In the 
role of a bully he had blurted insults at his own pastor, and 
with swinish hoofs had trampled the ashes of the Revolu- 
tionary dead. Now at the meeting's close what is left of his 
bloated grandiloquence ? He had felt dashed against his 
brazen brow and burning into it the brand of infamy as that 
conquering young arm launched the bolt that smote him 
down. That bolt was symbolized in the stone sped to 
Goliath's forehead by the hand of a stripling three thousand 
years before, when the giant of Gath dashed to earth lay 
headless in the bloody dust. Thus was the Goliath of the 
Bay State bar struck down by another stripling, who, though 
he never had a brief, had a sling and stone, an unerring aim, 
and an arm that drove the missile home. The bolt flew 
true, and down headlong went the perjured official, 
perfidious to the highest trusts, false to liberty, and patron 
of mobs and murderers, and grand old Faneuil Hall rang 
out in a thousand echoes its loud — Amen ! 

THE OTHER FELLOW 

By William Hawley Smith, Teacher, School Superintendent, Lec- 
turer. Born in Sunderland, Mass., 1845; resides in Peoria, 111. 

From "The Evolution of Dodd," copyright, 1884, by William H. Smith and John 
W. Cook, and published by Rand, McNally & Co., Chicago, 111. 

Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes says that in every one of us 
there are two persons. First, there is yourself, and then 
there is the Other Fellow ! Now one of these is all the time 
doing things, and the other sits inside and tells what he 
thinks about the performance. Thus, I do so-and-so, act 
so-and-so, seem to the world so-and-so; but the Other 
Fellow sits in judgment on me all the time. 

I may tell a lie, and do it so cleverly that the people may 
think that I have done or said a great or good thing; and 
they may shout my praises far and wide. But the Other 
Fellow sits inside, and says, " You lie! you lie! you're a 



33 2 EDWARD DICKINSON BAKER 

sneak, and you know it! " I tell him to shut up, to hear 
what the people say about me; but he only continues to 
repeat over and over again, "You lie! you lie! you're a 
sneak, and you know it! " 

Or, again, I may do a really noble deed, but perhaps be 
misunderstood by the public, who may persecute me and 
say all manner of evil against me, falsely; but the Other 
Fellow will sit inside and say, " Never mind, old boy! It's 
all right! stand by! " 

And I would rather hear the " well done " of the Other 
Fellow than the shouts of praise of the whole world; while 
I would a thousand times rather that the people should shout 
and hiss themselves hoarse with rage and envy, than that the 
Other Fellow should sit inside and say, " You lie! you lie! 
you're a sneak, and you know it! " 

TO YOUNG MEN OF NEW YORK IN 1861 

By Edward Dickinson Baker, Lawyer, Member of Congress from 
Illinois, 1844-5 1; Senator from Oregon, 1860-61 ; Major-General of 
Volunteers. Born in London, England, 181 1; killed in the Battle of 
Ball's Bluff, 1 86 1. 

From an address at a great mass-meeting in New York City, April 19, 1861. Reprinted, 
by permission of the publisher, from " Masterpieces of E. D. Baker," published, 1899, 
by Oscar T. Shuck, San Francisco. 

The hour for conciliation is passed; the gathering for 
battle is at hand, and the country requires that every man 
shall do his duty. Fellow citizens, what is that country ? 
Is it the soil on which we tread ? Is it the gathering of 
familiar faces ? Is it our luxury, and pomp, and pride ? 
Nay, more than these, is it power, and might, and majesty 
alone ? No; our country is more, far more, than all these. 
The country which demands our love, our courage, our 
devotion, our heart's blood, is more than all these. Our 
country is the history of our fathers, the tradition of our 
mothers. Our country is past renown; present pride and 
power; future hope and dignity; greatness, glory, truth, 



TO YOUNG MEN OF NEW YORK IN i8bi 333 

Constitutional guarantees — above all, freedom forever. 
These are the watchwords under which we fight, and we will 
shout them out until the stars appear in the sky in the 
stormiest hour of battle. I have said that the hour of con- 
ciliation is passed. It may return, but not to-morrow or 
next week. It will return when that tattered flag [of Fort 
Sumter] is avenged. It will return when rebellious Con- 
federates are taught that the North, though peaceable, is 
not cowardly; though forbearing, not fearful. That hour 
of conciliation will come back when again the ensign of the 
Republic will stream over every rebellious fort of every Con- 
federate State, to be, as of old, the emblem of the pride, and 
power, and dignity, and majesty, and peace of the nation. 

Young men of New York ! you are told that this is not to 
be a war of aggression. In one sense, that is true; in 
another, not, We have committed aggression upon no 
man. . . . We have committed no oppression, broken no 
compact, exercised no unholy power, but have been loyal, 
moderate, Constitutional, and just. We are a majority, and 
will govern our own Union, within our own Constitution, in 
our own way. We are all Democrats. We are all Repub- 
licans. We acknowledge the sovereignty within the rule of 
the Constitution ; and under that Constitution, and beneath 
that flag, let traitors beware! 

In this sense, then, young men of New York, we are not 
for a war of aggression; but in another sense, speaking for 
myself as a man who has been a soldier, and as a man who 
is a Senator, I say I am for a war of aggression. I propose that 
we do now as we did in Mexico — conquer peace. I propose 
that we go to Washington, and beyond. I do not design to 
remain silent, supine, inactive — nay, fearful — until they 
gather their battalions and advance upon our borders or into 
our midst. I would meet them upon the threshold, and 
there, in the very hold of their power, in the very atmosphere 
of their treason, I would dictate the terms of peace. It may 
take thirty millions of dollars, it may take three hundred 



334 EDWARD DICKINSON BAKER 

millions — what then ? We have it. Loyally, nobly, grandly 
do the merchants of New York respond to the appeals of 
the Government. It may cost us seven thousand men; it 
may cost us seventy-five thousand; it may cost us seven 
hundred and fifty thousand — what then ? We have them. 
The blood of every loyal man is dear to me. My sons, my 
kinsmen, the men who have grown up beneath my eye and 
beneath my care, they are all dear to me; but if the country's 
destiny, glory, tradition, greatness, freedom, Constitutional 
government demand it, let them all go. 

I am not now to speak timorous words of peace, but to 
kindle the spirit of determined war; I speak in the Empire 
State, amid scenes of past suffering and past glory. The 
defenses of the Hudson above me, the battle-field of Long 
Island before me, and the statue of Washington in my very 
face; the battered and unconquered flag of Sumter is waving 
at my side, which I can imagine to be trembling again with 
the excitement of battle. And as I speak, I say my mission 
here to-day is to kindle the heart of New York for war — 
short, sudden, bold, determined, forward war. . . . 

Let no man underrate the dangers of this conflict. Civil 
war, for the best of reasons upon the one side, and the worst 
upon the other, is always dangerous to liberty, always fear- 
ful, always bloody. But, fellow citizens, there are yet worse 
things than fear, than doubt and dread, and peril and blood- 
shed. Dishonor is worse. Anarchy is worse. States forever 
commingling and forever severing is worse. Secessionists 
are worse. To have star after star blotted out, to have stripe 
after stripe obscured, to have glory after glory dimmed, to 
have our women weep and our men blush for shame through 
generations to come; that and these are infinitely worse than 
blood. . . . 

And [young men of New York] if, from the far Pacific, a 
voice feebler than the feeblest murmur upon its shore may 
be heard to give you courage and hope in the contest, that 
voice is yours to-day. And if a man whose hair is gray, who 



AT THE TOMB OF NAPOLEON 335 

is well-nigh worn out in the battle and toil of life, may 
pledge himself on such an occasion, and in such an audience, 
let me say as my last word that as amid sheeted fire and 
flame, I saw and led the hosts of New York when they 
charged in contest on a foreign soil for the honor of the flag; 
so again, if Providence shall will it, this feeble hand shall 
draw a sword, never yet dishonored, not to fight for honor 
on a foreign field, but for country, for home, for law, for 
government, for Constitution, for right, for freedom, for 
humanity — and in the hope that the banner of my country 
may advance, and wheresoever that banner waves, there 
glory may pursue and freedom be established. 



AT THE TOMB OF NAPOLEON 

By Robert Green Ingersoll, Lawyer, Lecturer, Orator. Born in 
Dresden, N. Y., 1833; died in New York City, 1899. 

From an address on "The Liberty of Man, Woman, and Child," Reprinted, by- 
permission of the publisher, from " Prose Poems and Selections from the Writings of 
Robert G. Ingersoll," copyright, 1895, by C. P. Farrell, New York City. 

A little while ago, I stood by the grave of the old 
Napoleon — a magnificent tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost 
for a dead deity — and gazed upon the sarcophagus of black 
Egyptian marble, where rest at last the ashes of that restless 
man. I leaned over the balustrade and thought about the 
career of the greatest soldier of the modern world. 

I saw him walking upon the banks of the Seine, contem- 
plating suicide. I saw him at Toulon — I saw him putting 
down the mob in the streets of Paris — I saw him at the head 
of the army of Italy — I saw him crossing the bridge of Lodi 
with the tricolor in his hand — I saw him in Egypt in the 
shadow of the Pyramids — I saw him conquer the Alps and 
mingle the eagles of France with the eagles of the crags. I 
saw him at Marengo — at Ulm and Austerlitz. I saw him in 
Russia, where the infantry of the snow and the cavalry of the 
wild blast scattered his legions like winter's withered leaves. 



33 6 JOSEPH C. SIBLEY 

I saw him at Leipsic in defeat and disaster — driven by a 
million bayonets back upon Paris — clutched like a wild 
beast — banished to Elba. I saw him escape and retake an 
empire by the force of his genius. I saw him upon the 
frightful field of Waterloo, where Chance and Fate combined 
to wreck the fortunes of their former king. And I saw him 
at St. Helena, with his hands crossed behind him, gazing 
out upon the sad and solemn sea. 

I thought of the orphans and widows he had made — of 
the tears that had been shed for his glory, and of the only 
woman who ever loved him, pushed from his heart by the 
cold hand of ambition. And I said I would rather have 
been a French peasant and worn wooden shoes. I would 
rather have lived in a hut with a vine growing over the door, 
and the grapes growing purple in the kisses of the autumn 
sun. I would rather have been that poor peasant with my 
loving wife by my side, knitting as the day died out of the 
sky — with my children upon my knees and their arms about 
me. I would rather have been that man and gone down to 
the tongueless silence of the dreamless dust than to have 
been that imperial impersonation of force and murder. 



FOR EXPANSION 

By Joseph C. Sibley, Member of Congress from Pennsylvania, 1893-95 
and 1899 — . Born in Friendship, N. Y., 1850. 

From a speech made in the House of Representatives, February 1, 1900. See Con- 
gressional Record for February i, 1900. 

Shall we keep the Philippine Archipelago and Puerto 
Rico ? Every foot ! No nation on the globe has higher 
rights or better title to a rod of soil. We hold by a double 
claim — the right of conquest and the right of purchase. 
My belief is that where once our banner's shadow has fallen, 
there will survive a race of freemen. And I should hold 
Cuba until stability, order, the protection of life, property, 
and good government were assured. 



FOR EXPANSION 337 

And again I echo the President's query, "Who would 
haul down the flag?" Who planted it there? What 
Cabinet council ? What warrior ? What statesman ? What 
Senator or Representative ? What body of men framed any 
plan of conquest ? The cries of suffering humanity, ground 
down beneath the iron heel of oppression, rang in our ears, 
and we stopped our ears. Their groans were heard, but we 
answered not. We saw them stripped and wounded on our 
way to Jericho, and like the priest and Levite passed by on 
the other side. Not unheard at the throne of heaven were 
those groans and prayers. 

In order to awaken us from our torpor and almost 
criminal indifference the Almighty permitted the engines of 
His wrath to hurl their thunderbolts under the bows of the 
Maine lying peacefully at anchor in Habana Harbor. Nor 
keenest sighted statesman nor most daring warrior had even 
contemplated the possibility of gain, growth, or greatness to 
us as a nation to come out of the war of which the blowing 
up of the Maine was the first declaration. 

These lands and people, unworthily ruled, were, in the 
wisdom of the Almighty, to pass from the house of Saul to 
that of David. God and the valor of American arms gave 
us this territory, not because we are a nation altogether free, 
altogether pure and blameless, but because working through 
human instrumentalities, He has given it to the boldest, 
freest, most progressive, most enlightened, and most Chris- 
tian of all the nations of the present age. . . . 

Should the Administration surrender this territory and the 
advantages it secures to America, the historian of the future 
will write it down as one of the most pusilanimous Adminis- 
trations that ever had control of national events. Shall we 
eternally take council with our fears ? Shall we play the role 
of opportunists in politics ? Shall we act the part of poli- 
ticians on issues of such tremendous consequence? No! 
No ! Let us rather set our faces toward the morning and 
keep step with the forward progress of the world. No party 



33 8 IOSEPH C SIBLEY 

or individual will ever win success, or even deserve it, by 
any policy of mere negation. No man or party wins success, 
or should, by merely pointing out the mistakes of others. 

We have forgotten the name of a single one of the horde 
of critics of Paradise Lost, but we remember well that its 
author was John Milton. We recall the fact that Watt 
invented the steam-engine. We have forgotten, or never, 
cared to know, the names of the multitude of men who have 
wrecked steam-engines. Primitive man lived in caverns, 
clothed himself in skins, and ate his meat raw, and there has 
never occurred a change for the higher and better forms of 
life without arousing the hostility of some old mossback, 
conservative hunker, who will prate of those fairer and better 
days of old, when their grandfathers swung from the limbs 
of the trees in the wilds of the forest primeval. 

Mr. Chairman, we have held up to us for warning the 
history of Persia and Greece, of Babylon and Rome. They 
have flourished and faded. They had their morning hour 
and their meridian and went out in the blackness of night. 
Rome expanded until, like a wheel, the spokes radiated from 
the hub through Europe, Asia, and Africa. The collapse 
of her power and of every empire of the past came, not from 
the weakness of the periphery of the wheel, but from the 
rottenness of the hub. 

" Rome fought for spoils and booty, and all the loot of war, 
The talons of her eagles ever left the cankering scar, 
Her consuls led her legions forth with sword, and scourge, and chain; 
And captives reel at the chariot wheel when home they come again. 

'• Not for spoils and booty, not for the loot of war, 

Not for a train of captives chained to the conqueror's car, 
Our nation sends her legions forth, far out across the sea, 
With her starry emblem floating, proclaiming all men free." 

We go forth with the plowshare and the pruning-hook ; 
with the Bible and the spelling-book. From the jungle and 
the hilltops will float the banner of freedom over countless 
schoolhouses; we go to lift up cellar-hatchways and let out 



FOR EXPANSION 339 

fetid poisons and miasmatic vapors; we go forth not to 
pillage temples, but to erect them; not to stifle liberty, but 
to givG nobler ideals of liberty; not to forge fetters, but to 
break them. 

History finds man first in Asia, from which the human 
family have emigrated to the westward until they have circled 
the globe, and to-day the new civilization clasps hands at 
Manila with the ancient. . . . 

Mr. Chairman, every dictate of prudence and of statesman- 
ship, every dictate of business sense and of commercial ad- 
vantage, every dictate of reason, every prompting of human- 
ity, and every obligation of applied Christianity unite in the 
demand that we go forward. We have a mission to perform ; 
a destiny to accomplish; an example to be given of how 
nations may justly rule themselves, not in license but in 
liberty. Nor shall the mission be finished, or that destiny 
be fully accomplished, until — 

" The war-drums beat no longer, 
And the battle-flags are furled 
In the parliament of man — 
The federation of the world." 

Shall we falter in our duty ? Shall we haul down that flag 
whose waving stripes speak the white of purity and the red 
of sacrifice, and whose shining stars stand in the field of blue 
as an aspiration and inspiration for all that is noble in life 
and beneficent in government ? No ! Let it float ! And 
/mder its shadows 

" Shall brothers be knit in closer bands 

From the mountain's crest to the gray sea- sands, 
And the world be better, I ween." 



340 ROBERT GREEN INGERSOLL 



THE PLUMED KNIGHT 

By Robert Green Ingersoll, Lawyer, Lecturer, Orator. Born in 
Dresden, N. Y., 1833; died in New York City, 1899. 

From a speech made in the Republican National Convention at Cincinnati, June 15, 
1876. Reprinted, by permission of the publisher, from " Prose Poems and Selections 
from the Writings of Robert G. Ingersoll," copyright, 1895, by C. P. Farrell, New 
York City. 

The Republicans of the United States demand as their 
leader in the great contest of 1876 a man of intelligence, a 
man of integrity, a man of well-known and approved politi- 
cal opinions. They demand a statesman; they demand a 
reformer after, as well as before, the election. They demand 
a politician in the highest, broadest, and best sense — a man 
of superb moral courage. ... 

The Republicans of the United States demand a man who 
knows that prosperity and resumption, when they come, 
must come together; that when they come they will come 
hand in hand through the golden harvest fields; hand in hand 
by the whirling spindles and turning wheels; hand in hand 
past the open furnace-doors; hand in hand by the naming 
forges; hand in hand by the chimneys filled with eager fire — 
greeted and grasped by the countless sons of toil. . . . 

The Republicans of the United States want a man who 
knows that this Government should protect every citizen at 
home and abroad; who knows that any government that will 
not defend its defenders and protect its protectors is a dis- 
grace to the map of the world. They demand a man who 
believes in the eternal separation and divorcement of church 
and school. . . . The man who has in full, heaped and 
rounded measure, all these splendid qualifications is the 
present grand and gallant leader of the Republican party — 
James G. Blaine. 

Our country, crowned with the vast and marvelous 
achievements of its first century, asks for a man worthy of 



THE PLUMED KNIGHT 34 1 

the past and prophetic of her future; asks for a man who has 
the audacity of genius; asks for a man who is the grandest 
combination of heart, conscience, and brain beneath her 
flag. Such a man is James G. Blaine. 

For the Republican host, led by this intrepid man, there 
can be no defeat. 

This is a grand year; a year filled with the recollections 
of the Revolution, filled with proud and tender memories of 
the past, with the sacred legends of liberty; a year in which 
the sons of freedom will drink from the fountains of 
enthusiasm ; a year in which the people will call for a man 
who has preserved in Congress what our soldiers won upon 
the field ; a year in which we call for the man who has torn 
from the throat of treason the tongue of slander; ... for 
the man who, like an intellectual athlete, has stood in the 
arena of debate and challenged all comers, and who, up to 
the present moment, is a total stranger to defeat. 

Like an armed warrior, like a plumed knight, James G. 
Blaine marched down the halls of the American Congress 
and threw his shining lance full and fair against the brazen 
foreheads of the defamers of his country and the maligners 
of his honor. For the Republicans to desert this gallant 
leader now is as though an army should desert their general 
upon the field of battle. 

James G. Blaine is now, and has been for years, the bearer 
of the sacred standard of the Republican party. I call it 
sacred, because no human being can stand beneath its folds 
without becoming and without remaining free. 

Gentlemen of the convention, in the name of the great 
Republic, the only republic that ever existed upon this earth; 
in the name of all her defenders and of all her supporters; 
in the name of all her soldiers living; in the name of all her 
soldiers dead upon the field of battle; and in the name of 
those who perished in the skeleton clutch of famine at 
Andersonville and Libby, whose sufferings he so vividly 
remembers, Illinois— -Illinois nominates for the next Presi- 



342 EDWARD BULWER, LORD LYTTON 

dent of this country that prince of parliamentarians, that 
leader of leaders, James G. Blaine. 



THE LAST OF THE ROMAN TRIBUNES 

By Edward Bulwer, Lord Lytton, Novelist, Playwright, Essayist, 
Poet, Statesman. Born in London, England, 1803; died in Torquay, 
England, 1873. 

From the novel " Rienzi," published by George Routledge and Sons, London and 
New York. 

Rienzi, the Roman Senator, was at the Capitol awaiting 
the mob. On they came, no longer in measured order, as 
stream after stream — from lane, from alley, from palace, and 
from hovel — the raging sea received new additions. On 
they came — their passions excited by their numbers — women 
and men, children and malignant age — in an awful array of 
aroused, released, unresisted physical strength and brutal 
wrath. " Death to the traitor — death to the tyrant — death 
to him who has taxed the people! " 

Suddenly came a dead silence, and on the balcony above 
stood Rienzi — his head was bared and the morning sun 
shone over that lordly brow, and the hair grown gray before 
its time, in the service of that maddening multitude. Pale 
and erect he stood — neither fear, nor anger, nor menace — tout 
deep grief and high resolve — upon his features! A momen- 
tary shame — a momentary awe seized the crowd. 

He pointed to the Gonfalon, wrought with the Republican 
motto and arms of Rome, and thus he began : 

" I too am a Roman and a citizen! hear me! " 

" Hear him not! Hear him not! His false tongue can 
charm away our senses! Hear him not! down with the 
tyrant! Hear him not! death to the death-giver! " 

From earth to heaven rose the roar — " Down with the 
tyrant — down with him who taxed the people! " 

A shower of stones rattled on the mail of the Senator, — 
still he stirred not. No changing muscle betokened fear. 



THE LAST OF THE ROMAN TRIBUNES 343 

He stood collected in his own indignant but determined 
thoughts! Darts and arrows began to darken the air; and 
now a voice was heard shrieking, ' ' Way for the torches ! ' ' 
Straw, and wood, and litter were piled hastily round the door 
of the Capitol, and the smoke curled suddenly up, beating 
back the rush of the assailants. 

Rienzi was no longer visible; an arrow had pierced his 
hand — the right hand that supported the flag of Rome — the 
right hand that had given a constitution to the Republic. 
He retired from the storm into the desolate hall. 

He sat down; and tears, springing from no weak and 
woman source, but tears from the loftiest fountain of emotion 
— tears that befit a warrior when his own troops desert him 
— a patriot when his countrymen rush to their own doom — 
a father when his children rebel against his love, — tears such 
as these forced themselves from his eyes and relieved, but 
they changed, his heart ! 

"Enough, enough!" he said, rising and dashing the 
drops scornfully away ; " I have risked, dared, toiled enough 
for this dastard and degenerate race. I renounce the 
thought of which they are so little worthy! — Let Rome 
perish! — I feel, at last, that I am nobler than my country! 
— she deserves not so high a sacrifice! " 

Death lost all the nobleness of aspect it had before pre- 
sented to him. His active mind ran over the chances of 
disguise — of escape; he left the hall — passed through the 
humbler rooms, — found in one of them a coarse working- 
garb — indued himself with it — placed upon his head some 
of the draperies and furniture of the palace, as if escaping 
with them. With that he awaited his occasion. 

Meanwhile the flames burnt fierce and fast; the proud 
Capitol of the Caesars was already tottering to its fall ! Now 
was the time! — he passed the flaming door — the smoldering 
threshold; he passed the outer gate unscathed — he was in 
the middle of the crowd. The mob rushed past him — he 
went on — he gained the last stair descending into the open 



344 EDWARD BULWER, LORD LYTTON 

streets — he was at the last gate — liberty and life were before 
him. 

A soldier (one of his own) seized him. " Pass not — 
whither goest thou ? ' ' 

"Beware lest the Senator escape disguised!" cried a 
voice behind. 

" I am a Senator! " he said in a loud voice. " Who dare 
touch the representative of the people ? " 

The multitude were round him in an instant. Not led, 
but rather hurried and whirled along, the Senator was borne 
to the Place of the Lion. There arrived, the crowd gave 
way, terrified by the greatness of their victim. The whole 
Capitol wrapped in fire, lighted with ghastly pomp the im- 
mense multitude. Down the long vista of the streets 
extended the fiery light and the serried throng, till the crowd 
closed with the gleaming standards of the Colona — the 
Orsini — the Savelli ! Her true tyrants were marching into 
Rome! As the sound of their approaching horns and 
trumpets broke upon the burning air, the mob seemed to 
regain their courage. Rienzi prepared to speak; his first 
word was as the signal of his own death. 

' ' Die, tyrant ! ' ' cried del Vecchio ; and he plunged his 
dagger into the Senator's breast. 

" Die, executioner of Montreal! " muttered Villani; and 
his was the second stroke. Rienzi, without a word, without 
a groan, fell to the earth — as the roaring waves of the multi- 
tude closed over him. 

A vast volume of smoke obscured the fires afar off; then 
came a dull crash, and the next moment, the towers of the 
Capitol had vanished from the scene, and one intense and 
sullen glare seemed to settle over the atmosphere, — making 
all Rome itself the funeral pyre of the last of the Roman 
tribunes! 



APPENDIX. 

PROPER NAMES FOUND IN THE PRECEDING 
SELECTIONS AND WORDS OFTEN MISPRO- 
NOUNCED. 

KEY OF SIGNS AND DIACRITICAL MARKS. 

fate, ah, all, care, at, ask, final ; eve, let, fern, silent ; Ice, ill ; old, 
orb, Sdd ; use, up, urn ; pity ; m5on, book ; out, oil ; chair ; go; sing ; 
then, thin ; zh like z in azure. 



A 

abdomen — ab-do'men, not ab'do- 

men. 
abject — ab'jekt, not ab-jekt'. 
ablative — ab'la-tiv, not ab"l-tiv. 
abstemious — ab-ste'ml-us, not ab- 

stSm'i-us. 
aoclimate— ak-kll'mat, not ak'kli- 

mat. 
accouter — ak-koS'ter, not ak- 

kou'ter. 
accurate — ak'ku-rat, not ak'ker-it. 
acquiesce — ak-kwi-es', not -esk. 
across — a-krSs, not a-krost'. 
acumen — a-ku'men, not ak'u-men. 
address (noun and verb) — ad-dres'. 
adept (noun and adj.) — a-dept'. 
Adonis— a-do'nls. 
adult — a-dult'. 
aerie — e'ri or a'er-I. 
again — a-gen', not a-g3n'. 
against — a-ge n s t' . 
aged (adj.) — a'jed, not ajd. 



albumen — al- bu'me n . 

Aldebaran — al-de-ba-ran' or al- 

deb'a-ran. 
alien — al'yrn, not al'i-en. 
allopathy— al-lop'a-thy. 
alloy (noun and verb) — al-loi'. 
ally— al-li'. 
almond — a'miind. 
almost — al'most, not al'mtist. 
Alpaca — al-pak'a not al-a-pak'a. 
Alpine — al'pin or -pin. 
alternate (noun and adj.) — al- 

ter'nate, not al- 
always — arwaz, not al"wuz. 
amateur— am'a-ter or am'a-tur / . 
Amherst — am'erst, not am'herst. 
amenable — a-me'na-b'l, not a- 

raen'- 
anarchist — an'ar-kist. 
anchovy— an-cho'vy. 
annunciate — an - nun'shi-at. 
antarctic — ant-ark'tik, not ant-ar r 

tik. 
Antilles — an - til'les. 

345 



346 



WORDS OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED. 



antipode — an'ti-pod, but an-tlp'o- 

dez. 
applicable — ap'plik-a-b'l, not ap- 

plik'a-b'l. 
appraiser — ap-praz'er, not ap- 

priz'er. 
appreciate — ap-pre'shi-at, not ap- 

pre'si-at. 
Arab — ar'ab. 
Aramaic — ar-a-ma'Ik. 
archangel — ark-an'jel. 
archbishop — arch-blsh'up. 
archipelago — ark-I-peTa-go, not 

arch- 
arctic — ark'tlk, not ar'tlk. 
artificer — ar-tif'i-ser. 
Asia — a'shia. 

associate — as-so'shi-at, not -sl-at. 
athlete — ath'let, not ath'l-et. 
Attila — at'il-a. 

attorney — at-tur'ny, not at-tor'ny. 
attribute — at-trib'ut, not at-trib'- 

lt. 
audacious — a-da/shus, not a-dash' 

us. 
aurochs — a'roks. 
Austerlitz — as'ter-lits. 
auxiliary — agz-Il'ya-ry. 
aversion — a-ver'shun, not -zhiin. 
ay (yes)— I. 
aye (always) — a. 



B 



bacillus — ba-sil' lus . 

bade — bad. 

banana — ba-na'na, not ban-an'a. 

Basil — ba'zil, not ba'sil. 

Bastile — bas-tel' or bas'tel. 

because — be-kaz', not be-kuz'. 

been — bin, ben in England, never 

ben. 
Beethoven — ba'to-v<rn. 
believe — belev', not blgv. 
beloved (adj.) — be-luv'gd. 
beloved (part.) be-luvd'. 
beneficent — be-nef'i-s^nt, not ben- 

e-fishVnt. 
beneath — be-neM' or be-neth' 
betroth — be-troth'. 
Bingen — bing'6n, not bing'gen. 
biography — bl-og'ra-fy. 



Bismarck — biz 'mark. 

bitumen — bi-tu'men, not bit'yfl- 

men. 
bivouac — biv'wak or biv'66-ak. 
blithe— bllth, not bllth. 
boisterous — bois'ter-iis, not bois'- 

trtis. 
bomb — b5m or bum. 
bombast — bom'bast or bum'bast. 
Bonhomme Eichard — bo-nom' rg- 

shar'. 
bouquet — boo-ka', not bo-ka'. 
bow-legged — bo'legd, not bo'leg= 

ed. 
bowsprit — bo' sprit, not bou'sprit. 
bravado — bra-va'do. 
breeches — brich'ez. 
bronchitis — brong-kl'tis. 
brooch — broch, not brooch, 
bulwark — bSol'wurk or -wark. 
buoy — bwoi or boi, not boo'i. 
butcher — booch'er, not boo'cher. 



cabriolet — kab-ri-5-ia / . 

Caesarea — ses-a-rg'a. 

canine — ka-nln'. 

canon — kan'yun. 

carbine— kar'bln. 

caricature — kar'i-ka-tQr. 

cartridge — kar'trij, not kat'rij. 

catch — kach, not kech. 

Caucasus — ka'ka-stis, not ka-kas'- 

iis. 
cello — chel'15. 
cement (noun) — sem'ent or sg- 

ment'. 
cerement — ser'm^nt. 
certain — ser'tin, not ser'tan. 
Chaldea — kal-de'a. 
chap (jaw.) — chop. 
Charlemagne — shar'le-man or 

char'- 
chary — char'y or cha'ry. 
chastisement — chas'tiz-m^nt, not 

chas-tlz'm<?nt. 
Cheyenne — shl-en' or she-en'. 
Chicago — shi-ka'go, not shi-ka'go. 
Chinese — chl-nez' or -rigs', 
circular — ser'kQ-lar, not ser'ker- 

lar. 



WORDS OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED. 



347 



clapboard— klab'bOrd {not klap'- 

bord). 
cleanly (adj.)— klen'ly. 
cleanly (adv.) — klen'ly. 
clique — klek, not klik. 
coadjutor — ko-ad ju'ter, not k5- 

ad'ju-ter. 
cocoa — ko'ko. 
cognomen — kog-no'men, nofkog'- 

no-men. 
coigne — koin. 

column — kol'um, not kdl'yum. 
combatant — kom'bat-ant. 
comely— ktim'ly, not kOm'Iy. 
Commodus — kom'mo-dus. 
comrade— kom'rad or kom'-rad. 
concave — kon'kav or kong'kav. 
condolence — kon-do'lens, w^/kon'- 

do-lens. 
congeries— kon-je'ri-ez. 
conjure (juggle) — kun'jur. 
conjure (implore) — k6n-jtire'. 
conscientious— k 6 n-s h I-e n'shus, 

not kon-sl-en'shus. 
constitution — kon-sti-tfl'shun, not 

kons-tu'shun. 
contumacy — kon'tfl-ma-sy, not 

kon-tu'ma-sy. 
conversant — kon'ver-sant. 
copse — kops, not kops. 
corps — kor, plural korz. 
courier— koo'ri-er or koor'i-er. 
courtesy (civility) kur'te-sy ; (salu- 
tation) kurt'sy. 
courtier — kort'yer. 
covetous — kuv'et-us. 
coyote- -kl'o-te or ki'ot. 
cupola — kQ'po-la, not kfi'pa-lo. 
cursed (adj.) — kurs'ed. 
curtain— kiir'tin, not kur'tan. 



dais— da'is. 

damage — dam'aj, not dam'ij. 

Daniel — dan'I-el or dan'yel. 

daub — dab, not dob. 

daunt — dant. 

deaf— def or def. 

Decatur— de-ka'tiir. 

decease — de-ses'. 

decorous— de-ko'rus or dek'o-rus. 



decrepit — dg-kreo'it, not de-krep'- 

Id. 
deficit — def l-sit, not de-fis'it. 
demesne— de-men', 
denunciate — de-ntin'shi-at, not 

de-nfin'si-at. 
depot — de'po or da-po' or dep'o, 

not da'po. 
depreciate — de-pre'shi-at, not de- 

pre'si-at. 
De Quincey — de kv?in'sl,not kwin'- 

zi. 
Desaix — des-sa'. 
despicable — des'pik-a-b'l, not des- 

pik'a-b'l. 
desuetude — d es' w e - tud . 
devil — dev"l, not dev'il. 
different— different, not dif'rent. 
dipbtberia — dif-the'ri-a or dip- 
dipbthong — dif'thong or dip- 
direct— di-rect', not dl-rect'. 
discern — diz-zern'. 
disputant — dis'pti-tant. 
dotb — dtith. 
draught — draft, 
drought— drout. 
drouth — drouth, 
duty— du'ty, not doo'ty. 



economic — e'-ko'-nom'ik or ek-5- 

Edinburgh — ed'in-birr-o, not ed'- 
In-burg. 

education — ed-u-ka'shun, not ej- 
oo-ka'shun. 

e'er — ar or ar, not gr. 

eh — a or e. 

either — e'Mer or I'tAer. 

El Caney — al ka'ney. 

Elgin (Illinois.) — el'jin ; (mar- 
bles) — eTgin. 

embroglio — em-brol'yo. 

English — ing'glish, not eng'glish. 

enquiry — en-kwlr'y. 

envelope — en'vel-op or an'wl-op. 

epitome — e-plt'o-me. 

ere — ar or ar. 

Eretria — e-re'tri-a. 

erysipelas— er-i-sip'e-las, not er- 
l-sip'e-las. 



348 



WORDS OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED. 



esoteric — es-o-ter'ik. 
Esquimaux — es'ki-moz. 
Esther — es'ter, not es'th&r. 
every — ev'er-y, not ev'ry. 
evil — e'vl, not e'vil 
exchequer — eks-chek'er. 
extant — gks'tont. 
eyrie — a'ry or e'ry. 



facade — fa-sad' or fa-sad'. 

facile — fas'il. 

falcon — fa'k'n. 

Faneuil — fan'el. 

faucet — fa' s6t. 

fetich — fe'tish. 

finale — fe-na'la. 

financier — fin-an-sgr'. 

flaccid — flak'sed. 

forensic — fo-ren'sik, not -zik. 

forehead — for'ed. 

fountain — foun'tin, not foun'tan, 

Frances — fran'sez. 

Francis — fran'sis. 

fungi— ftin'jl. 



Gaeta — ga-a' ta. 

gallant (brave) — gal'lamt. 

gallant (chivalrous) — gal-lant' 

gamin — gam'in. 

gamut — gam'iit. 

gather — gath'er, not ggth'er. 

gauge— gaj. 

gaunt — gant. 

Gaza — ga'za. 

Gellius — jeTi-us. 

Gennesaret — gen-nes'a-ret. 

Genoa — jen'5-a. 

genuine — jgn'tl-in . 

gherkin — ger'kin. 

gibbet — jib'bgt. 

gin (machine) — jin. 

glacier — gla'sher or glas'i-er. 

Golgotha — gol'go-tha. 

Grahame — gram. 

Greve — grav. 

Grierson — grer's<?n. 

Grosvenor — grov'ner. 

Guido — gwg'd5. 



guild — gild. 

gules — gulz. 

gums — gumz, not g55mz. 

Gutenburg — g5o' ten-berg. 



harass— har'as. 

haunt — hant. 

hautboy — ho'boi. 

Hawaii — ha- wl'g . 

Hayti — ha'tT. 

hearth — harth. 

height — hit, not hlth. 

heinous — ha'nus. 

heraldic — he-ral'dik. 

herb — erb or herb. 

Herculean — her-ku'le-an. 

Herve Eiel — er-va' re-el'. 

hiccough — hik'kup. 

history — his'to-ry. 

homage — hom'aj. 

homosopathy — ho-mg-5p'a-thy. 

homogeneity — ho-m5-je"-ng'it-y\ 

hoof — hoof, not hSof. 

horizon — ho-ri'zon. 

hovel — hov'el. 

hover — huv'er. 

humble — hum'b'l. 

humor — hti'mer or Q'mer. 

hyperbole— hl-pet'bo-le. 

hypocrisy — hi-p6k'rl-sy\ 



Icarus — ik'a-rus. 

ideal— I-de'al, not I'dg-al. 

idyl — I'dil or id'il. 

Ik Marvel — Ik mar-vel, not Ik. 

Illinois — Il-lin-oi' or il-Hn-oiz', not 

el. 
illustrated — U-Ius'tra-t6d, not II'- 

lus-tra-ted. 
imbroglio — im-brol'y5. 
impious— Im'pi-us. 
impotence — im'p5-t,?ns. 
inaugurate — In-ag'ii-rat, not in- 

a'gur-St. 
inchoate — In'ko-at. 
incomparable — I n-k 5 m'pa-ra-b'l, 

not in-k6m-par'a-b'l. 
indict— in-dlt'. 



WORDS OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED. 



349 



indisputable — in-dis'pu-ta-b'1. 

indissoluble — in -dis'so-lu-b'l. 

infamous — In'fa-mus. 

Ingelow — In'je-lo. 

inquiry — In-kwi'ry, not In'kwir-y. 

integral— In'te-gral, not In-te'gml . 

interested — In'ter-est-ed, not In- 

ter-est'ed. 
interlocutor— In-ter-lSk'yu-ter. 
intrigue — in-treg'. 
inveigh — in-va'. 
inveigle — in-ve'g'1. 
inventory — In'ven-to-ry. 
Iowa— l'o-wa, not I-o'wa 
irrefragable — ir-ref'ra-ja-b'l. 
irregular — Ir-reg'ii-ler, not Ir- 

reg'^r-ler. 
irrevocable — ir-re v'o-ka-b'l , not 

ir-re-vo'ka-b'l. 
isolate — I'so-lat or Is'o-lat. 
Italian— I-tal'yan , not I tal'yan. 
Ivry — Iv'ry or Sv'ry. 



Jacob — ja'kob, not ja'ktip. 
Jairus — jai'rus. 
January— jan'yu-a-ry. 
jaunty — jan'ty. 
jocund— jok'iind. 
joust — just or j5ost. 
jugular — ju'gu-lar. 
Juliet— jQ'H-6t. 

K 

Kansas — kan'sas or zas. 
kiln — kil, not kiln. 
Kossuth — kosh'oot . 



label— la'bel, not la'b'l. 
laboratory — lab'o-ra-tO-ry, not 

lab'ra-to-ry. 
laird — lard, 
lamentable — lam'en-ta-b'l, not la- 

ment'a-b'l. 
languor — lang'gw£r. 
Larmes — larmz. 
larynx— lar'Inks. 
laugh — laf. 
launch — lanch. 



laundry — lan'dry. 

learned — lern'ed. 

leash — lesh. 

leave — lev, not lef. 

legate — leg'at, not le'gat. 

leisure— le'zhQr or lezh'ur, not 

la'zhur. 
Lent ulus — 1 e n t'y u-ltis. 
lethargy — leth'ar-jy. 
lever — le'ver or lev'er. 
library — ll'bra-ry. 
licorice— lik'o-ris, not lik'o-rish. 
lief —lef, not lev. 
literature — lit'er-a-tur. 
Lodi— lo'de. 
loggia— lod'ja. 
lower (threaten) — lou'er. 
Lucknow — luk' now. 
Luzon — lti-zon' or -zon. 
lyceum — ll-sS'um, not ll'sg-um. 



Madrid— mad-rid'. 
Magdala — mag'da-la. 
Magdalen (college) — mod'lin. 
manoeuvring — ma-nu vring, not 

ma-nu'ver-ing. 
manufactory — man-yu-fak'to-ry, 

not man-yu-fak'chu-ry. 
Marseillaise — mar-sa-yaz'. 
Massachusetts— mas-a-chu's6ts. 
Matanzas — ma-tan'zas. 
matron — ma'trun. 
mausers — mou'zers. 
mayoralty — ma'er-al-ty. 
measure — mezh'ur, not ma'zhQr. 
Melas — ma'las. 
memoir — mem'wor or mgm'. 
memory — mem'o-ry, not mera'ry. 
Messala — me-sa'la. 
Metz — mgts. 

Michael — ml'kel or ml ka-el. 
microscopy — ml-kros'ko-py. 
Milan — mil'an or mil-an'. 
Millet — me-ya'. 
mineralogy — miner-al'o-jy, not 

-ol'o-jy. 
mischievous — mis'chg-vus, not 

mis-che'vus. 



35° 



WORDS OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED, 



model — mod'el, not mod'l. 
molecule — mol'S-kGl, not mol'kul. 
Moultrie — moo'tri or mool'tri. 
Monroe — mun- ro'. 
mountain — moun'tin, not moun'- 

t'n or moun'tan. 
Mozart — mo'zart or mS'tsart. 
museum — mu-ze'um, not mu'ze- 

um. 
mustache — mus-tash'. 



naivete — n a-e v-ta'. 

naked — na'ked, not ngk'ed. 

nape — nap, not nap. 

Napier — na'pe-er. 

nascent — nasVnt, not na's<?nt. 

ne'er — nar or nar, not ngr. 

neither — neV/^er or niV/^er. 

nephew — nefu or nev'ii. 

neuralgia — nu-ral'ji-a, not nu- 

ral'ja or nu-ral'i-jy. 
new — nu, not noo. 
New Orleans — or'le-anz, not 6r- 

lenz'. 
Nicaragua — ne'ca-ra-gwa. 
niche — nich. 
nominative — nom'i-na-tiv, not 

nom'na-tiv. 
nonchalently — non'sha-lant-ly. 
none— nun, not none, 
nothing — nuth'ing. 



oaths — othz, not Oths. 

obeisance — o-be'sans or o-ba'. 

oblique — ob-lek' or -Ilk'. 

often — of 'n, not often. 

only— on'ly\ 

orchid — or'kid. 

ordeal — or'de-tfl, not or'del. 

orgies — or'jiz. 

oust — oust, not oost. 



pall mall — pel mel'. 
palmistry — pal'mis-try. 
Palos — pa/Jos or pa-los'. 



pantomime — pan'to-mlm, not 

-min. 
parachute — par'a-shoot. 
parent — parent or parent, 
parliament — par'li-m<fnt. 
participle — par'ti-si-p'l, not part'- 

sip'l. 
partridge — par'trij, not pat'. 
Pheidippides — fl-dip'pl-des. 
Philadelphia — fil'a-deTfi-a, not 

fel-. 
phlegmatic— fleg-mat'ik. 
Phocion — fo'shi on. 
phthisic — tiz'ik. 
phthisis — thl'sis. 
physicist — fiz'I-sist, not -kist. 
pianist — pi-an'ist, not pe'an-ist. 
Pierre — pe-ar\ 
Pizzarro— pi-zar'r5. 
plagiarism — pla'ja-riz'm, not plag- 
plague — plag, not pleg- 
plenipotentiary — p 1 en-i-p5-t e n'- 

shi-a-ry. 
poetaster— po'et-as-ter. 
poignant — poin'ant. 
portentous — por-tent'iis. 
prairie— pra'ri. 
precedence — pre-sedVns. 
precedent (noun) — pres'e-d<?nt. 
preferable — pref'er-a-b'l. 
presbytery — prez'bit-er-y or pres-. 
prestige — pres'tij or (F.) pres- 

tezh'. 
pretence — pre-tens', not prg'tgns. 
pretty — prit'ty, not prgt'ty. 
profile — pro'fll or -fgl. 
protestation — prot-es-ta'shun. not 

pro-, 
pseudo — su'do. 
pshaw — sha. 
psychic — sl'kik. 
Ptolemy — tol'e-my. 
Puerto Rico — pwgr'to re'ko. 
publicist — pub li-slst, not -kist. 
pygmean — pig- me 'a n . 



quay — kg. 

querulous — kwer'u-lus, not kwgr'- 

er-lus. 
Quincy (Adams) — kwin'zi. 



WORDS OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED. 



35* 



R 



raillery — ral'ler-y or ral-. 
Raphael — rafa-el or ra'fa-el. 
rapine — rap'in, not ra-pen'. 
rather — rath'er or rath'er, not 

ruth'Sr. 
Ratishon — rat'iz-bon . 
real — re'^l, not ra'al. 
realization — rg-«l-iz-a'shun, not 

re-tfl-iz-a'shun. 
recess — re-ses'. 
referable — ref'er-a-b'l. 
refluent — refluent. 
refuse (noun) — ref us. 
regime— ra-zh e m '. 
regular — reg'u-ler, not reg'er-ler. 
reparable — re p'a-ra-b' 1. 
representative — rep-re-zent'a-tiv, 

not rSp-er-zent'a-tiv. 
reputation — rep'u-ta'shun, not 

rSp-er-. 
research — re-serch'. 
resource — re-sors'. 
reveille — re-val'ya. "In the 

United States service commonly 

rev'a-le'. " — Webster, 
revocable — rev'o-ka-b'l. 
ridiculous — ri-dik'u-lus, not ri-dik' 

er-. 
Rigel — rl'jSl or re'jel. 
rinse — rins, not rens. 
Rio Grande — rl'5 grand or re'o 

gran'da. 
rise (noun) — ris or rlz. 
robust— r5-bust'. 
Rodriguez— ro-dre'gSth. 
roof— roof, not roof, 
room — room, not room. 
root — root, not root, 
roseate— ro'ze-at. 
route — root or rout. 
routed — rout'ed. 
routine— roo-ten'. 



S 



Saarbrtick — sar'bruck. 
sachem — sa'ch^m. 
Sadowa — sa-do'wa. 
Sagasta — sa-gas'ta. 
Samoa — sa-mo'a. 



St. Louis— sant loo'is or loo'i. 
San Juan — san hoo-an'. 
sanguine — sang'gwin. 
Santiago — san-te-a'go. 
satin — sat'in, not sat"n. 
savage — sav'aj, not sav'ij. 
schismatic— siz-mat'ik. 
Schurz — shoorts. 
secretary — sek'r e-t a-r f, not 

sek'Sr-. 
Sedan — se-dan'. 
sergeant — sar'jVnt or ser-. 
sesame — ses'a-me. 
Sesostris — se-sos'tris. 
sesterce — ses'ters. 
several — seVer-al, not sev'raL 
sheik — shek. 
shone — shon or shon. 
shriek — shrek, not screk. 
shrill — shrll, not scril. 
since — sins, not sens, 
sloth— sloth or sloth, 
slough (cast-off skin) — sluf. 
slough (pit)— slou. 
Solferino — sol-fe-re'no. 
spoon — spoon, not spoon, 
squalor — skwa'lor or skwol'er. 
St. Domingo — do-ming'go. 
stalwart — stol'wert or stol'wert, 

not stal-. 
steady — sted'y\ not stid'y\ 
stint — stint, not stent. 
strategic — stra-te'jik or -tej'ik. 
succinct — suk-singkt', not sus-. 
superfluous — su-per'flti-us, not su- 

p6r-flu'us. 



tabernacle — tab'&r-na-k'l, not 

tab'na-k'l. 
taunt — tant. 

tedious— te'di-us or tgd'yus. 
tenable— ten'a-b'l. 
tenet — ten'et. 
tepid — tep'id. 

therefore — thar'for or ther'for. 
Thoreau — tho'ro or th5-r5'. 
tiny— ti'ny. 
tortoise— tor' tis or -tus. 
Toussaint L'Ouverture — too-san' 

loS-ver-tur'. 



35* 



WORDS OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED. 



toward — to'erd. 

Trafalgar — traf-al-gar'. 

tranquil — trang'kwii. 

Transvaal — trans-val'. 

travail — trav'al. 

tremor — trS'mor or trem'Sr. 

troth — trSth. 

trough — trof, not trdth. 

turbine — tur'bin. 

Turin — tu'rin. 

turquoise — tur-koiz'or -kez'. 



ugh — 56. 

umbrella — um-brel'la, not urn- 

bril'la. 
unguent— ung'gwent. 
usage — uz'aj, not us'aj. 
usurpation — u-zur-pashun. 
Utah— u'ta or u'ta. 



vagary — va-ga'ry, not va'gS-ry. 

valet — val'et or val'a. 

valuable — val'u-a-b'l, not val'ii-b'l. 

vanquish — vang'kwlsh. 

Varinius — va-rin'i-us. 

vase — vas or vaz. 

vaudeville — vod'vil. 

vaunt — vant or vanr. 

vehement — vg'h e- men t . 

Ven dee — vo n - d a ' . 

Versailles— ver-salz'. 

vicar — vik'er. 

vignette — vin-yet' or vin'yet. 



Vinicius — vl-nisb/I-iis. 
Villagos — ve-16-gdsh'. 
viscount— vl'kou n t . 
visor — viz'er, not vl'zer. 
Volturnus — v61-tur' nijs. 



W 

wan — w5n, not wan. 
wary — wa'ry. 
Waterloo — wa-ter-loO'. 
Wellesley — welz'ly. 
Weyler — wa'ler. 
wharf — hwarf, not warf. 
whene'er — hw6n-ar' or - 

hwen-gr'. 
which — hwich, not wich. 
whole— hol. 
whooping — h55p'ing, not 

ing. 
wont (custom) — wum. 
won't — w5nt. 
Worcester — wo5s'ter. 
wound — wo5nd or wound. 
wreaths — rgthz, not rgths. 



not 



h66p'- 



youths — yflths. 



Zaccheus — zak-g'us. 

zoology — zo-dl'O-jy', not z55-51'0- 

jy. 

Zuyder Zee — zi'der zg. 



INDEX OF AUTHORS 



Anonymous, 73, 83, 149, 292, 296 

Baker, Edward Dickinson, 332 
Beecher, Henry Ward, 112, 116 
Beveridge, Albert Jeremiah, 

3 2 4 
Blaine, James Gillespie, 142, 
302 

BOYESEN, HjALMAR HjORTH, 92 

Bright, John, 205 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 

189, 208 
Browning, Robert, 118, 309 
Burritt, Elihu, 256 

Carleton, Will, 172, 280 
Chamberlain, Joshua Law- 
rence, 39 
Chapin, Edwin Hubbell, 75, 

239 
Chatham, Lord, 91 
Child, Lydia Maria, 120 
Clay, Henry, 78 
Coppee, Francois, 153 
Coudert, Frederic Rene, 278 
Cousins, Robert G., 223 
Curtis, George William, 136 

Davis, Richard Harding, 17 

228 
Depew, Chauncey Mitchell, 

166 



Dickinson, Anna Elizabeth, 

220 
Dromgoole, Will Allen, 31 

Eliot, Charles William, 263 

Frye, William Pierce, 5, 86, 
H5> 2 94 

Gough, John Bartholomew, 

179 
Grady, Henry Woodfen, 248, 

289, 313 
Grant, Robert, 48 
Grattan, Henry, 254 

Hale, Edward Everett, 57 
Hay, John, 43, 322 
Hillis, Newell Dwight, 26 
Hoar, George Frisbie, 8o r 88, 

133, 185 
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 225 
Howells. William Dean, 199 
Hugo, Victor Marie, 69 
Hyde, William DeWitt, 98 

Ingersoll, Robert Green, 326, 
335, 34o 

Johnson, Henry U., 5 

Kellogg, Elijah, 299 
King, Charles, i 

353 



354 



INDEX OF AUTHORS 



Lincoln, Abraham, 196 
Lippard, George, 182, 275 
llttlefield, charles e., ii4 
Lodge, Henry Cabot, ii, 36, 51, 

170, 197, 246 
Long, John Davis, 59, 124, 211, 

273 

Longfellow, Henry Wads- 
worth, 62 

Lowell, Robert Traill Spence, 

243 
Lytton, Lord, 342 

McClure, Alexander Kelly, 

177 
McDowell, James, 214 
McKinley, William, 20, 260, 306 
Meagher, Thomas Francis, 304 
Moore, Maude, 7 

Nason, Emma Huntington, 262 

Page, Thomas Nelson, 108 
Parker, Theodore, 158 
Parkhurst, Charles Henry, 

146 
Phillips, Wendell, 307 
Porter, Horace, 206, 241 

Read, Thomas Buchanan, 163 
Reade, Charles, 38 



Reed, Thomas Brackett, 152, 

194 
Riley, James Whitcomb, 127, 

234 
Russell, William Eustis, 232 

Sargent, Epes, 156 
Schurz, Carl, 71 
Sibley, Joseph C, 336 
slenkiewicz, henryk, 316 
Sill, Edward Rowland, 103 
Smith, William Hawley, 331 
Stockton, Robert Field, 265 
Storrs, Richard Salter, 286 

Taylor, Benjamin Franklin, 23 
Thompson, Maurice, 267 
Thurston, John Mellen, 28, 66, 

105, 130, 187 
Trowbridge, John Townsend, 

138 

Van Dyke, Henry, 53, 217 

Wallace, Lew, 251 
Washington, Booker Talia- 
ferro, 122, 160, 271 
Watterson, Henry, 55, 96, 101 
Webster, Daniel, 106 
Weld, Theodore Dwight, 328 
Whitman, Walt, 181 
Wolcott, Edward Oliver, 15 



INDEX OF TITLES 

PAGE 

Against Expansion Henry U. Johnson 45 

Against Flogging in the Navy. . .Robert Field Stockton 265 

Against Imperialism George Frisbie Hoar. ... 185 

Against the Fugitive-Slave Law. Theodore Parker 158 

Against the Spoils System Henry van Dyke 53 

Agencies in Our National Prog- 
ress Alexander Kelly McClure 177 

American Battle-Flags Carl Schurz 71 

America's Mission Albert Jeremiah Beveridge — 324 

Appeal to the People, An John Bright 205 

At the Tomb of Napoleon Robert Green Ingersoll . . 335 

Assault on Fort Wagner Anna Elizabeth Dickinson 220 

Banty Tim John Hay 43 

Bell-Ringer of '76, The Anonymous 73 

Benediction, The Francois Coppee 153 

Bible, The Newell Dwight Hillis 26 

Blue and the Gray, The Henry Cabot Lodge 246 

Boat-Race, The Robert Grant 48 

BRIER- ROSE Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen 92 

Chariot-Race, The Lew Wallace 251 

Charles Sumner George William Curtis 136 

Citizen's Responsibility, A William McKinley 306 

City of New York, The Frederic Rene Coudert 278 

Claudius and Cynthia Maurice Thompson 267 

Columbian Oration Chauncey Mitchell Depew 166 

Commonwealth of Massachu- 
setts, The William Eustis Russell 232 

Cuba William Pierce Frye 145 

Dangerous Legislation James McDowell 214 

Daniel Webster George Frisbie Hoar 88 

Death Bridge of the Tay, The.. . Will Carleton 172 

355 



35 6 INDEX OF TITLES 



Death of Charles the Ninth Maude Moore 7 

Death of Garfield, The James Gillespie Blaine 142 

Death of Rodriguez Richard Harding Davis 228 

Death Penalty, The Victor Marie Hugo 69 

Dedication of Gettysburg Ceme- 
tery, The Abraham Lincoln 196 

Evangeline, From Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 62 

Fight Off Santiago Henry Cabot Lodge 36 

First Settler's Story Will Carleton 280 

Fool's Prayer, The Edward Rowland Sill 103 

Forefathers' Day John Davis Long 211 

For Expansion Joseph C. Sibley 336 

Grant William McKinley 260 

Great Britain and America Edwin Oliver Wolcott 15 

Greek Revolution, The Henry Clay 78 

Heart of Old Hickory, The Will Allen Dromgoole. 31 

Herve Riel Robert Browning 189 

Horace Greeley Henry Ward Beecher 116 

Incident of the French Camp Robert Browning 118 

Incident in the Life of Wen- 
dell Phillips, An Theodore D. Weld 328 

Jim Bludso John Hay 322 

Knee-Deep in June James Whitcomb Riley 127 

Lark, The Charles Reade 38 

Last of the Roman Tribunes, The. Lord Lytton 342 

Let Us Have Peace Henry Watterson 96 

Liberty and Union Daniel Webster 106 

Lincoln : A Man Called of God. John Mellen Thurston 130 

Maiden Martyr, The Anonymous 83 

Maine at Gettysburg Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain 39 

Man Who Wears the Button, 

The John Mellen Thurston 105 

Man Without a Country, The Edward Everett Hale 57 

Massachusetts Henry Cabot Lodge 170 

Meagher's Defense Thomas Francis Meagher 304 

Message from the South, A Booker Taliaferro Washington 160 



INDEX OF TITLES 357 

PAGE 

Mission of the Public School, The. William DeWitt Hyde 98 

Monroe Doctrine, The John Mellen Thurston 66 

Mother and Poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning . . 208 

Mr. Travers's First Hunt Richard Harding Davis 17 

New Americanism Henry Watterson 55 

New England Character James Gillespie Blaine 302 

New England Civilization William Pierce Frye 5 

New South, The Henry Woodfen Grady 313 

Not Guilty Anonymous 296 

O Captain ! my Captain ! Walt Whitman 181 

One Niche the Highest Elihu Burritt 256 

On Receiving the Master's De- 
gree from Harvard Booker Taliaferro Washington 271 

On the Other Train Anonymous 149 

Opportunity to Labor, The Thomas Brackett Reed 152 

Other Fellow, The] William Hawley Smith 331 

Our Duty to the Philippines William McKinley 20 

Our National Flag Henry Ward Beecher 112 

Our Pledge to Puerto Rico Charles E. Littlefield 114 

Our Rich Heritage John Mellen Thurston 187 

Oxford County John Davis Long 59 

Path of Duty, The George Frisbie Hoar 80 

Pheidippides Robert Browning 309 

Piety and Civic Virtue Charles Henry Parkhurst. ... 146 

Pilot's Story, The William Dean Howells 199 

Plea for Cuba, A John Mellen Thurston 28 

Plumed Knight, The Robert Green Ingersoll , 340 

Power of Habit, The John Bartholomew Gough 179 

Protection of Americans in Ar- 
menia William Pierce Frye 294 

Puritan Sabbath, The Henry van Dyke. . , 217 

Puritan Spirit, The. Richard Salter Storrs 286 

Ray's Ride Charles King 1 

Relief of Lucknow Robert Traill Spence LowelL . 243 

Reply to Mr. Corry Henry Grattan 254 

Rescue of Lygia, The Henry k Sienkiewicz 316 

Reverence for the Flag Horace Porter 241 

Revolutionary Rising, The Thomas Buchanan Read 163 

Rider of the Black Horse, The. .George Lippard 182 



35 8 INDEX OF TITLES 

PAGE 

Schools and Colleges of Our 

Country, The Charles William Eliot 263 

Secret of Lincoln's Power, The.. Henry Watterson 101 

Significance of the Spanish War, 

The John Davis Long 124 

Soldier Boy, The John Davis Long 273 

Soldier of the Empire, A Thomas Nelson Page 108 

Soldier's Faith, The Oliver Wendell Holmes. . . , . . 225 

Solution of the Southern Prob- 
lem, The Booker Taliaferro Washington 122 

South and Her Problems, The. . . Henry Woodfen Grady 289 

Southern Negro, The Henry Woodfen Grady 248 

Spartacus to the Gladiators Elijah Kellogg 299 

Spartacus to the Roman Envoys. Epes Sargent 156 

State of Maine, The William Pierce Frye 86 

Storming of Mission Ridge, The.. Benjamin Franklin Taylor. . . 23 
Supposed Speech of James Otis . . .Lydia Maria Child 120 

To the Grand Army of the Re- 
public Thomas Brackett Reed 194 

Toussaint L'Ouverture Wendell Phillips 307 

To Young Men of New York Edward Dickinson Baker 332 

Traditions of Massachusetts, 

The Henry Cabot Lodge 12 

Traveler's Story, The James Whitcomb Riley 234 

Tribute to Gen. Sherman, A Horace Porter 206 

Tribute to the Men of the 

Maine, A Robert G. Cousins 223 

Triumph of Peace, The Edwin Hubbell Chapin 75 

True Americanism Henry Cabot Lodge. ... .... 197 

True Power of a Nation, The Edwin Hubbell Chapin 239 

True War Spirit, The George Frisbie Hoar 133 

Unknown Speaker, The George Lippard 275 

Unter den Linden Emma Huntington Nason 262 

Vagabonds, The John Townsend Trowbridge. . 138 

Victor of Marengo, The Anonymous 292 

Vision of War, A Robert Green Ingersoll 326 

War with America, The Lord Chatham 91 

What the Flag Means Henry Cabot Lodge 51 



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